


That Rusty Old Minivan

by pointerbrother



Category: One Direction
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bottom Harry, Bottom Louis, Drug Dealing, Drug Use, Drugs, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Illegal Activities, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Pining, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Top Harry, Top Louis, Underage Drinking, Underage Substance Use, Violence, larry stylinson - Freeform, relative poverty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 125,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pointerbrother/pseuds/pointerbrother
Summary: Taking an evening class was never meant for meeting people, let alone someone with a face like Harry Styles'. But as with most things in Louis' life, things rarely turned out as he meant for them to.Louis meets Harry at an evening class and they begin a strange sort of friendship in a strange sort of way. But Louis has much more to worry about than just his uncertainty about Harry's feelings for him, and Harry - well, Harry has a rusty old minivan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fic ever in any fandom, hope I'm not too late to the party in this one :) I've been a bit of a lurker for several years. 
> 
> I'll be posting chapters weekly. 
> 
> Enjoy :D
> 
>  
> 
> My Tumblr is pointerbrotherblog where i have posted a rebloggable link for this fic :)

His brain felt clogged up with blurred out knowledge when he stepped out of the building at nine pm that evening. He’d listened, or at least tried to, but the words had only made their way halfway into his brain, now floating around somewhere in the back of his memory, hidden by all of the other stuff that was more important right now. 

A couple of the blokes from the class had gathered behind the building for a smoke. Louis hadn’t really spoken to any of them, didn’t think adult evening classes were a place for socialising, but hopefully they’d still let him bum a smoke because he couldn’t afford another packet before payday. 

“Hey,” he said, walking up to the group.

Four guys in hoodies and trainers like his own, looked up. Two of them weren’t smoking nicotine cigarettes, and yeah, Louis could go for that as well. Anything to take the edge off. 

“Hey,” one of them replied, reaching out to give him a quick hand-shake, “Louis, right?” 

“Yeah. You’re…?”

“Harry.”

“Right. Yeah.” 

Harry was tall and broad-shouldered, clad in a dark grey hoodie, hood pulled up over his head and little brown curls framing his pale face. Louis had noticed him before. He was late for the first class of the course, but had managed to charm his way out of it, even with that fifty-something-year-old male teacher. He’d borrowed pencils from Louis twice, come to think of it. “Can I bum one?” Louis therefore felt entitled to ask, nodding at the guys’ blunt. 

“Only got this,” he answered, blowing smoke out into the cold evening air. 

“I’d offer you a fag, but my ride’s here. I’ve gotta take off,” one of the other guys said, leaving. The third one didn’t say anything. Stingy pricks. 

Louis was just about to leave, when the boy with the blunt, Harry, said, “you know, I might have something in my bag for you.”

Louis looked up at him, brows creasing together a little. “’Something’?” 

“Yeah.” He waved his blunt around. “’Nother one of these. That’s what you wanted, right?” 

Louis shifted weight, confused and a little bit irritated. “What, you just told me you didn’t have…”

“I lied.” 

Louis frowned at him. Harry raised his brows. 

Louis shifted weight again. “Okay, so can I have it or?” 

“Why should I just give it to you like that?” 

To be decent, how about that, Louis thought pissily. He was reaching the end of his rope with this bloke. “So, what, what do you want, you want money, is that it?” he stuck a hand into his pockets and grabbed what he could find. “Right, I’ve got a ten’er, how’s that?” 

The boy chuckled at the ground and shifted weight from foot to foot. He blew smoke out through his perched pink lips and replied, “I don’t want your money.” 

Christ. “Right, so are you just being a prick or what is it that you want? Because you’ve lost me at this point, mate.” 

He stared at Harry, impatient. Harry looked up again, his jaw cocking slightly to the side. His gaze flicked to the side, just for the fraction of a second, but Louis caught it, and- and he knew that look. 

 

Looking back, Louis couldn’t really remember whether he went along with it for the sake of a stupid blunt or because he needed to get fucked senseless anyway. In the end it didn’t really matter. 

The boy went through the back entrance of the building, down a hall and found a handicap bathroom. Louis followed him, two steps behind, until they were standing in the loo with the door locked behind them, looking each other in the face. Harry tugged his hoodie down. Yeah. Louis had definitely noticed that face before. He was pretty, no doubt about it; the sort of chap who knew he could have what he wanted without even having to speak. 

He didn’t speak now. 

He unzipped his jeans, pulled out his cock and began stroking it slowly while still watching Louis. He was big and he was almost fully hard already. It made Louis wonder whether the process of negotiation had gotten him off or if he’d noticed Louis before as well. 

“You want to fuck me?” he asked. He couldn’t really look up at him. He hadn’t done this like _this_ a whole lot of times and he usually didn’t like himself for a while afterwards. Not that it stopped him. 

The boy shook his head. 

Before Louis could ask what he wanted then, a heavy hand was planted on his shoulder, pushing him downwards. Louis landed on his knees and the boy’s hand came around to the back of his head, guiding him in place. He slid the head of his cock over Louis’ half-closed mouth a few times, pre-come smearing his lips. Louis looked up at him and he was already looking down. His jaw looked strong from this angle, his eyes darker. 

Louis was growing hard himself, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that this was about that. This wasn’t about him. 

He took a hold of Harry’s fat cock and steered it into his mouth. As he started sucking, moving back and forth and using his hand where he couldn’t reach, Harry began giving these easy hoarse moans that went straight to Louis’ lower belly. The hand in Louis' hair tightened, pushing and pulling, making him gag a few of times. He didn’t mind it; liked to be treated like a man by a man who knew he could take it. 

“Close,” Harry gritted out after ten minutes or so, “can I come in your mouth?” 

Louis was in half a mind to say no to him, but he didn’t want to risk pissing him off before getting his weed. He kept sucking him until Harry’s hips began bucking forward and his hand was almost painful in Louis’ hair. His noises were loud now, too loud for a bathroom quickie, really, but Louis relished them regardless. He was good at this, he knew that. Couldn’t do shit good enough at school and couldn’t do shit good enough anywhere else, but he could suck cock in a handicap stall for a toke. That much he had. 

The guy came in his mouth, hot sticky come spurting down his tongue and into his throat and a faint-haired pelvis pressed against his nose. After a few seconds, he slipped out of Louis’ mouth and Louis scrambled to the sink to spit his come out. They didn’t speak as they finished up, only the sounds of a zipper and belt buckle and the running faucet over Louis’ tongue filling the room. 

“You’re good at that,” Harry said when he was picking his bag off the floor. 

Louis cut off the faucet and checked his tongue in the mirror. “Thanks, man,” he muttered dryly, “my parents will be so proud at me for finally putting in some proper effort at school.” 

“Should be. Your oral performances are really-” 

“Yeah yeah,” Louis turned around and leant back against the sink, “enough with the innuendo’s. Give me my stuff.” 

Harry laughed, nodding. “All right, then,” he said, reaching into his bag and then handing Louis a fat home-rolled blunt. From the quick look Louis got before Harry slung his backpack over his shoulder again, he had several more where that came from. Dick. 

Harry locked them out of the toilet and they walked side by side in silence back toward the exit. They stopped outside and Harry pulled out a lighter without having to be asked. Louis watched him as he lit the blunt for him and he took his first deep hit. His cheeks were flushed red and his lips looked bitten into. Louis couldn’t help his inner smug prick. “Might wanna wipe your face, mate,” he said as they were walking around to the front of the building, “you’re glazed in sweat.” 

Harry snorted that, but Louis didn’t miss the hoodie-sleeve being swiped swiftly across his forehead. “Well. Thanks, man. See you next class,” Harry said as they’d reach their crossroads. 

“Yup,” Louis didn’t bother shaking his hand. “Later.” 

He took off in his own direction and didn’t look back once. His jaw was starting to ache a little, but the spliff would soon soothe that. It was the perfect arrangement. Even if he was going to dislike himself for a few days after this.


	2. Chapter 2

The next class, Louis almost considered not coming. Waking up the morning after he’d sucked cock for a spliff, he realised how incredibly senseless he’d been. He was taking a fucking class with this dude, and now, every time he looked at him, he’d be reminded of their cheap pathetic handicap stall hook-up. Sure, the bloke probably didn’t even give two shits, but Louis’ dignity did and that was the issue at hand. 

Eventually though, Louis remembered that he couldn’t allow, nor afford, to let some random weed-guy get in the way of his education, so he went to class on time like always. 

When he got in and scouted the auditorium, he was relieved not to see Harry there. He found a spot in a middle-row and pulled out his notepad and pens. Most of the other students in the class brought laptops to take notes on, but Louis was fine making do with what he had. Besides, he didn’t really have any other choice. 

What was his choice, was not reading up on their assigned homework for tonight’s class. And yet, it sort of wasn’t. It wasn’t like he sat around at home playing video games and then just decided not to give a shit about anything. Really, it was the complete opposite; he had much too much to give shit about and that was a shitty situation at times. 

He’d just have to hope the teacher was too shitty to notice. 

 

The teacher, Mr. Tippin, was just getting the whiteboard set up when someone took the empty seat beside Louis. 

A certain someone. 

Louis’ entire body went rigid. Out of all the many empty seats in the auditorium, this kid - this shameless weed-hoarding huge-cocked kid - chose the seat beside Louis. Brilliant. 

Harry didn’t even say hi, just pulled out his MacBook and kept his eyes on the screen. 

Louis glanced at him, trying to figure out what his deal was, but he couldn’t because Harry never looked up. Hardly even blinked. 

 

The lecture began and Louis managed to forget about his silent side-mate and tune into Mr. Tippin’s words. Except it was difficult to understand even a quarter of what he was saying when one hadn’t read the material he was talking about. In the end, Louis was just scribbling doodles on his notepad since it didn’t make a difference whether he listened or not.

But then, “and now I’m just going to give out a little worksheet of twenty questions for you to answer so I can determine whether you’ve understood the material for tonight’s class.” 

“Shit,” Louis hissed. 

And out of all things possible, that was what made Harry react. “You all right?” he asked.

Louis glanced over at him. He was still tapping away on his laptop. He had enough notes on that word-sheet to write an entire book of his own, god damnit. “Yeah I’m good,” Louis muttered. 

The papers were passed around, hand by hand, until they made it up to Louis and Harry. They were thin sheets of one-line-questions, but Louis still couldn’t make it past the first one before he was biting the end of his pencil. 

“Hey,” it came from his right, “it’s B.” Louis glanced up at Harry, and Harry’s finger came down to point at the B under the question he was struggling with. “B,” he said again, “it’s B.” 

“So…” Slowly, Louis allowed a small smile to creep onto his face, “… A?” 

Harry shook his head, looking serious for all of three seconds. “ _C_. I said _C_ , you fucking idiot.” 

Louis cackled and ringed the B. From then on, he was helped with almost every single question on the worksheet. Harry didn’t ask for anything in return, but Louis still made sure to joke around and make him laugh, hoping the friendliness would serve as some kind of payment. Because that was the basis of their relationship, wasn’t it? Something for something. You scratch my back, I suck your cock. Something like that.

Once they were finished, the papers were handed back to Mr. Tippin and soon after class, was dismissed. 

 

“Thanks, man,” Louis said as they were packing up their stuff, “didn’t quite get all those pages read for tonight.” 

Harry slipped his laptop into his bag and slung it over his shoulder, giving Louis a sideways smile. “You don’t say.” 

“Got busy,” Louis muttered, “life and all.” 

“Aah. Life… not that old bugger again.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

They reached the hallway and walked side by side toward the exit without speaking. After a couple of seconds, Louis stole himself to a glance at Harry. He had a funny way of walking; sort of manly and relaxed, but with a slight waggle to it and his shoulders were sort of hunched. Perhaps it was his height that made him have to stoop a little; he was tall, a good head or so taller than Louis, if not more. “How old are you?” Louis asked. 

“Nineteen.” Harry pushed the exit open for them. It was dark out now, raining a little. “You?” 

“Twenty-one,” Louis said, kicking some stray pebble into a puddle. They’d come to a standstill outside the exits. Last time they were in this spot together, Harry had gone off toward the parking lot and Louis had gone the other way, walking home. Now they were just sort of hovering there between crossroads, hands in pockets and hoodies over heads, not really talking, but not walking away either. It felt awkward, but Louis couldn’t quite bring himself to leave.

He looked up at Harry, not quite sure what he expected. Harry looked back down at him, eyes a little narrowed, then gave him a once-over. “You look older,” he said after a few second, “than twenty-one.” 

Well, then. “Rude.” 

Harry smiled, the sort of easy crooked grin to make a grown man feel fifteen again for a second. “Nooo,” he gave Louis a weak shoulder punch, “you know what I mean. You just have a… like, a, I dunno, way about you.” 

“A way about me? What, wrinkles or?” 

He chuckled. “No, shut up, just like… like, you just seem older than you are. But…” he looked at Louis again, smiling wider, “you don’t _look_ it.” 

Louis rolled his gaze out toward the parking lots again, biting back a flattered little chuckle. The last one of the other students was just pulling out in their car now. The only car left was a rusty red minivan that had to be Harry’s. 

“What makes a person seem older when they don’t look it then?” Louis asked, looking back at Harry, “when you don’t know their personality either?” 

“Dunno,” Harry scraped his foot at the ground, “like, the way that you walk, maybe. Or how you speak, like, I don’t know, I guess I… can’t explain it. And…” His eyes rolled up Louis again until they met his gaze, a teasing little smirk playing on his lips as he said, “sucking cock for a spliff.” 

Louis’ jaw locked tight like the slam of a door. “Right.” 

“Oh relax, I’m only teasing. It was niiiice,” Harry reached out to punch him again, but this time Louis moved his shoulder before impact. That made Harry take one step backwards, frowning. “What, are you cross now?” 

“No, you hopeless tosser.” Louis sighed. “'Course I'm not _cross_.” If he was, it was mostly with himself. “Anyway, I’ve got to go.” He did really have to, so the fact that he didn’t much mind leaving this conversation either was just a nice side-bonus.

“All right, then,” Harry said, “really hope I didn’t offend you or anything.” 

Louis slapped his shoulder because he looked like a hurt little puppy-dog, even as he was towering over Louis. “Listen, man, you’d need a whole lot more ammunition to offend me. I’ve been called every name in the book.” 

The crooked smile came back. “Then I guess I’ll just have to think outside the book.” 

Louis huffed, because he couldn’t really find anything to say to that and Harry was looking at him a bit for a bit too long without looking away. This wasn’t going to happen. There would be no more blowjobs for anything, not even for a face like that. 

Louis turned on his heel. “See ya!” he threw over his shoulder.

“Looking forward!” 

 

*

The thing about Harry was that he was the relentless type. That meant that the more Louis made it clear that he was not interested in continuing whatever little contact they’d had, the more Harry would make sure of the opposite. He began taking the seat beside Louis every single class, and when Louis came in after him he’d switch seats to sit beside him anyway. 

As much as Louis was still regretfully reminded of the blowjob-for-a-spliff-thing whenever he looked at Harry, he also had to admit that he actually sort of liked the guy. He was a bit of a fumbler when it came to words, sometimes Louis even had to cut him off or finish his sentences for him if he was just rattling on with no intention of stopping, but despite his verbal skills there was nothing slow about him. He was smart, no doubt about it, could keep up with every bit of banter, got every joke and every little innuendo. If things had been different, he’d be the sort of guy Louis could’ve been proper mates with. 

But as it was, things were exactly as they were and not one bit different. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another, and if it wasn’t another, it was a third. Louis’ life was not built for new mates and it most definitely was not built for mates with faces and cocks like Harry's.

It seemed that Harry had gotten that somehow; that however much fun and banter they had on this course, it stayed on the course and ended with it. He didn’t ask Louis about his background and Louis returned the favour. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, just enough for both of them.

Right until it wasn’t. 

 

They were in class one evening, evaluating the papers they had had due. Louis had just managed to reach the minimum bar for the word limit on his paper and he didn’t think he’d done too bad, considering. 

Mr. Tippin made the students switch papers with the person sitting next to them and then grade each other’s essays. Louis rolled his eyes as he passed his essay over to Harry; he’d always thought this sort of thing was just an excuse for teachers to sip coffee with their feet slung up on their desk while they played Candy Crush on their phone for forty minutes. 

“Don’t judge me, okay?” he said to Harry, “this was last minute stuff. And I’m like, retarded. Like, seriously, I’m retarded. So if you judge, it’s like rude and mean and retardophobic and I’ll get you kicked off the course.” 

Harry laughed. “You’re horrible, you know that? How do you think actual retarded people would feel if they heard you speak like that?” 

“Uhm… _retarded_?” Louis said, looking at him like he was stupid. "Du- _uh_."

Harry laughed again, then got to reading. Louis kicked or pinched him every time he heard a snort or a scoff or a ‘interesting choice of phrasing there…’, but it was all good fun. He wrote stupid remarks all-over Harry’s essay like ‘pretentious dick’ and ‘name-dropping dick’ and then he also just drew a few dicks. It wasn’t like anyone was going to get anything out of this anyway. 

After half an hour or so, they handed back the papers and began going through the changes. 

“Wow, man, you’ve actually taken this seriously,” Louis said, skimming through some of Harry’s scribbles.

“Yeah, you too. I love how every dick you’ve drawn is different size and shape and hairiness. Very realistic.” 

“Thanks, I put a lot of work into my art,” Louis replied, keeping his face serious as Harry cackled lowly beside him. He didn’t know why, but there was something about making the younger boy laugh that was just the most uplifting thing, a tiny little high every time. He tried to make it happen as much as he could. 

“I won’t be here next week so we won’t see each other for another two weeks. I’ll be e-mailing you home assignments during the weekend,” Mr. Tippin announced then, “and when you’re done discussing the changes with your partner, class is dismissed for tonight. Have a nice weekend.” 

Louis began hurrying through the pages to finish up the work. Harry was faster than him, packing up while telling him “great dicks. Okay balls. Think I’m content with the changes”. 

Louis was almost ready to get up and catch up to him in the hallway, when he reached the last page of his essay. Something stopped him in his tracks. There, underneath a few irrelevant grammar comments, was something that had nothing at all to do with grammar; a phone number. Beside it were the words ‘ **lets hang one of these days. H.** ’

Louis jumped halfway out of his seat and scouted the auditorium, but Harry was already gone. He looked back down at the paper, swiping his thumb over the words. If it wasn’t the blowjob-for-spliff-thing, it was something else. There was always a thing, always a reason not to. 

But just for now, Louis took the paper and stuffed it in his bag. Just for keeps. 

 

* 

It took Louis three seconds of his hand clutching the door-handle before he pulled. He wasn’t running late, for once, so the hesitation was affordable in that regard, but he couldn’t say as much for his self-respect. 

_He_ was the one who hadn’t phoned Harry even though his thumb had been hovering over his contact name for the entire two weeks they hadn’t seen each other. _He_ was the one who'd made sure they didn’t see each other at all. _He_ was the one who’d seemed like he didn’t care. And yet, _he_ was the one now scouting every inch of the auditorium the second he stepped into it, still clutching the doorhandle from the outside. 

The lump in his stomach dissolved; no Harry in sight. 

Although relieved, Louis kept looking over his shoulder as he found a lone seat in the middle row and began unpacking his things. It wasn’t like he didn’t want Harry to come at all. Was it? No. No it wasn’t. 

But no matter how many times Louis looked over his shoulder, craned his neck to see him and his gangly long legs stumble in the door, it was all the same; he wasn’t coming. 

Mr. Tippin arrived, set up the whiteboard and began introducing the lecture of the evening, and Harry was still nowhere to be seen. So he wasn’t going to come, then. This was it. Louis wasn’t going to see him till next class, then. He couldn’t call him now, not after he hadn’t in over two weeks.

‘Hey, why’d you skip class?’

or 

‘You ill? Need me to come and take care of you? Kiss it better? Suck your cock for a spliff again?’ 

No. No, it wouldn’t work. This was it, then. He’d just have to wait. 

 

But of course, just as he’d settled into his seat and focused his attention back on Mr. Tippin, the door creaked. 

“Late again, Mr. Styles?” Mr. Tippin called, before Louis had managed to twist his neck. 

Mr. Styles. That was his last name, then. Styles. Harry Styles.

Harry Styles came in black skinny jeans and his usual grey hoodie with the faded Nike-logo on. His long hair was pushed into a messy side-part, a white ear-phone dangling from his visible ear and his backpack slung over one shoulder. He looked like the definition of effortlessly sexy. “Sorry, Mr. T,” he said, waving lazily and giving a sheepish grin with it. 

Tippin rolled his eyes fondly and Harry was let off. It was that easy. Gangly walk and a half-arsed smile and Harry could have the world on a silver platter. He could have Louis right here if he asked. 

He didn’t ask. He didn’t even take the seat beside Louis. 

He walked right past Louis’ row, two rows down and then inched into a lone seat and dumped down on it. Louis blinked, nearly even rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing right. He could’ve sworn he’d gotten a good bit of eye contact with Harry just before, and now he was – well, Louis didn’t know what the _fuck_ he was doing. 

For the rest of the class, Louis couldn’t concentrate. Every time he tried to focus back on Mr. Tippin, that big fat chocolatey head of hair two rows down kept annoying the bottom of his eyesight. Why did he have to take a seat in front as well? Couldn’t he at least have had the common decency to take a seat where Louis _didn’t_ have to stare at his stupid long fingers every time he raised them to ask stupid drawled out slow-spoken questions that’d already been answered two seconds ago? And why was Louis this bothered, anyway?

After what could’ve been years, the class came to an end and Louis wasn’t one bit smarter than when he walked in. Only more annoyed. A little bit bewildered. Sort of hurt, to be honest. Not hurt in the ‘you broke my heart you luscious-haired son of a bitch!’-way. Rather in the ‘hey, man, why’d you, uhm- why’d you have to reject me like that though?’-way. 

Either way, he wasn’t going to voice it. 

At least not until Harry came walking past him and he looked Louis straight in the eye and he didn’t look smug or pissy or nonchalant. He just looked sort of… curious. His gaze flicked away the second Louis met it, but those big searching greens had already latched onto his mind’s eye. 

 

“Hey!” Louis called, half-running to catch up to him, “Harry, ehm... hey.” 

Harry slowed down in the hallway, giving Louis a quick no-eye-contact smile. “Hey.” 

They walked for a few seconds in silence. 

Louis cleared his throat. “So uhm… uh…” And suddenly it felt completely out of place to interrogate this half-stranger as to why he hadn’t automatically chosen the seat beside Louis. As if Harry owed him anything at all. They didn’t even know the first thing about each other. “Did you, eh… did you get that assignment he told us about?” 

“What?” Harry asked, and Louis was doing the exact same in his head. What the hell was happening to him?

“Uhm,” he said, feeling more awkward than ever, “eh, well, I didn’t quite catch what Mr. Tippin said about the assignment, that eh, we were…” 

Harry pushed the exit open, a loud gust of wind drowning out Louis’ mindless mumbling. 

When they were outside, standing in their usual swaying-between-crossroads-spot again, Louis had tossed the purposeless filler-question and Harry didn’t even seem to have noticed.

“Right.” Louis sighed. Why be a pussy now when he’d been tough his entire life? “So… random question, eh- why’d you uhm… why didn’t you come sit by me tonight, Styles?” 

He bumped Harry’s shoulder, trying to make it playful. It didn’t seem to work.

Harry blinked down at him, not even the hint of a smile on his lips. “Uhm… you, eh…”

“Me, eh?” 

“Uhm, I just gathered that… well, you know, since you hadn’t phoned me or anything, that it was like a, like a hint for me to back off or…” 

Oh. _Oh_. This stupid idiot. “You stupid idiot.” 

Harry laughed nervously, scratching at his stupid hair. “Heeeey,” he pouted, “be nice.” 

“I like when you sit by me,” Louis said, then quickly added, “how the fuck else do I get anything done properly? You know I never do my homework.” 

“You just asked me about homework less than two minutes ago.” 

Louis grinned sheepishly, rolling his eyes and swaying his shoulders. 

Harry smirked then, his usual knowing grin. There he was again. “Hey,” he said, “you know you don’t have to make up excuses to talk to me, Tommo.” 

“Tommo,” Louis echoed. He wasn’t the only one who’d been keeping track of names, then. 

“Tommo. Like, you know, Tomlinson,” Harry smiled faux-coyly. “Tommo the… eh… the… all right, nothing rhymes with Tommo. Nevermind.”

Louis laughed. “You’re not very funny, you know that?” 

“You’re not a very good liar, you know that?” 

Louis scrunched his mouth together over a smile, moving his gaze to the ground. “Anyway,” he muttered, “I better get going. It’s late.” 

“Yeah, it’s past your bed time, isn’t it? Almost nine, you ought to be tucking in your teddy bears by now.” Harry threw in another teasing smile.

“Stupid,” Louis muttered, smiling at the asphalt where he was trying to scrape some gum free for no reason. “Stupid idiot…” 

“But how come, anyway?” Louis looked up, confused. Harry was still smiling, but his eyes had that curious look to them again. “Just out of curiosity,” he said. “How come you didn’t phone me? It’s all right, I was just wondering…” 

And there it was. Ten thousand reasons and not one Louis felt comfortable sharing. He picked one anyway, “okay honestly? I felt weird about, uhm… you know.” 

“What?” 

“Well… you know…”

“What?”

“Come on, Harry, you know… with the, ehm… well, you know…”

“What?” 

Relentless dick. “That I sucked your cock for a spliff, you thick twat!” 

Harry’s hand flew up to his mouth, his eyes going big and bright and crinkling up with his laugh. 

Louis spun around himself to make sure no one had heard him, then slapped Harry over the shoulder, turned around again and left him there, snickering into his hand like a little kid who’d just seen someone curse in church. 

 

*

Louis threw Harry a text a couple of days later, just to make sure they were all right. There was no reply. Granted, he only sent a ‘ **hey it’s Louis, now u got my cell** ’ so there wasn’t much to reply to, but he’d at least expected a ‘ **thanks** ’. But nothing. Nothing at all. Radio silence. 

Louis wasn’t sure what to make of it, honestly didn’t have the time to ponder, but it got even weirder once he got to class again and Harry took the seat beside him. Mr. Tippin had already begun speaking so Harry didn’t say anything, just pulled out his laptop and began taking notes.

Louis glanced over at him. No reaction. Not even a flinch. 

He looked back at Mr. Tippin, trying to concentrate. He didn’t mean to be hypersensitive to Harry, but it was hard when he was being so freaking hard to figure out. Whatever happened to just telling it like it was? Whatever happened to being men? No bullshit, no back-and-forth, just two men being forward with each other. 

And just as he was sitting there, pondering over what it meant to be a man and other political intricacies, it happened; a hand on his thigh. 

It got planted, big and heavy, and then it just rested there. Louis glanced to his side again, but Harry was still looking straight ahead, expression completely unaffected. The hand moved upwards. Inwards. Louis huffed a sharp breath out through his nose and the hand clenched around his thigh, a strong thumb digging into his flesh, massaging at it. 

He looked at Harry again; he still wasn’t moving anything but his hand. If it hadn’t been there, groping Louis’ inner thigh and making his lower belly twitch, Louis would’ve believed he wasn’t doing anything at all.

But he was. Louis knew. He knew. He knew exactly what he was doing.

He moved his hand again, this time right up onto Louis’ crotch. Louis bit back a gasp and swallowed thickly. Harry began rubbing at him then, pushing the heel of his hand down against Louis’ fattening cock harder and harder. By the time Louis was fully erect Harry was squeezing and kneading at his bulge through his jeans, rubbing him fast up and down. Louis was holding on to the edge of his notepad like he’d slip to the floor and die from it if he didn’t. 

 

“Don’t forget to check your student mail,” Mr. Tippin called suddenly, breaking through Louis’ daze of arousal, “have a nice evening, everyone. See you next time.” 

Harry’s hand slipped off of him and now he was just sitting there, throbbing hard in his skinny jeans, with his nails dug into a blank notepad. 

“You all right?” Harry asked saccharinely. 

Louis scowled at him and he was smirking, maybe not with his mouth, but most definitely with his eyes. 

“No I’m not fuckin’ all right,” Louis gritted, “my jeans are about to burst, you fuckin’ arsehole.” 

Harry laughed. Then he grabbed onto Louis’ arm and hauled him onto his feet. From then on things went fast; Louis was dragged out of the auditorium, down the hall, down another hall, pushed into the handicap stall and then up against a wall. 

“Can I touch you?” Harry asked. He was smiling and licking his lips and he looked like someone who’d already gotten his yes. 

“Yes,” Louis said anyway. 

Harry moved right up close, and for a second Louis thought they were going to kiss. Then he dropped to his knees. “Wanna suck you off,” he said. 

“Have at it,” Louis breathed. 

He threw his head back against the wall with a gasp as Harry undid his fly and pulled his cock out, wrapping his big hand around it. He stroked it up and down a few times, slowly, savouring. Teasing. 

“Take me in your mouth, then,” Louis hissed, impatient and so hard his balls were beginning to ache, “come on, don’t be scared.” 

Harry cackled at that. “Scared…” he murmured mockingly.

Before Louis could say anything more, Harry had wrapped his soft full lips around the head of his cock, licking right up through his slit to make him gasp and moan and throw his head back again. He went slowly after that, moving in pace with his hand, up and down, up and down Louis’ shaft, sucking till his cheeks were hollowed, deep-throating till his eyes were teary. 

Louis moved a hand into his hair, fisting at the lot of it and guiding Harry’s head to fasten his pace. His dark red lips stretched rosy like the inside of a cherry around Louis’ cock and his eyelashes lied peacefully over his cheekbones as he moved up and down it. Louis brought his thumb to his sucked-in cheek, feeling himself inside his mouth. 

“Gonna come,” he had to warn after far too little time, “let me… _ungh_ …” 

He came in Harry’s mouth then, or throat rather, holding him as deep as he could manage and steadying himself back against the wall as best he could. 

 

“Shit,” he breathed out as Harry popped off of his spent cock, “that was- christ, thank you, man.” 

Harry shrugged a shoulder, then swallowed like it was nothing and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Want me to tuck you back in your pants?” he asked, grinning smugly. 

“I think I can manage,” Louis said, rolling his eyes, “you’re good, but you’re not _that_ good.” 

“No?” Harry scrambled onto his feet and leaned back against the wall across from Louis. “Not as good as you, you mean?” Louis winked at him, snapping his fingers, and Harry chuckled lowly at the ground. “Someone’s full of themselves...” 

Louis shrugged a shoulder. “A man’s got to know his strengths.” 

Harry shook his head, chuckling, then went and unlocked the door. Louis hurried to re-buckle his belt before running after him down the hall. “Hey! Wait up.” 

Harry turned, walking backwards. “Walk faster.”

“Have you seen the length of your legs?” Louis finally caught up to him, panting, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were walking around on stilts underneath your trousers.” 

Harry smirked at Louis as he pushed the exit open. “Wanna check and see?” 

Louis stuck his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “Nah, I think I’m good for now.” He looked up at Harry, who was now in the middle of lighting a spliff. “Why’d you do it anyway? Just felt like sucking cock or?” 

“Hm,” Harry took a hit of his joint and blew smoke out through his nose, watching it as it evaporated in the dark of the night, “to make us even.” 

“What?” 

Harry looked back at him, handing over the spliff. “You said you felt weird about the whole sucking-cock-for-a-spliff-thing.” 

“Shush, not so loud!” Louis hissed, then took a deep hit of the spliff to calm himself.

Harry cackled. “Relax, rent boy.” He got a punch in the arm for that, but continued anyway, “so now that I’ve returned the favour we’re sort of even. Now we’re just two guys who’ve both sucked each-others dicks. No whoring, no nothing, just mutually beneficial cock-sucking between friends.” He smiled. “Ergo; you didn’t suck cock for a spliff.” 

“Your logic is flawed though,” Louis said, handing him back the spliff, “because if we were to be completely even, shouldn’t I have given you a spliff as well?” 

“Nah,” Harry slapped him in the back, widening his smile, “we’re friends. Friends share their weed. They don’t ask for anything in return.” 

Friends. “And friends suck each-others cocks as well?” 

“Good friends do.” Harry gave Louis’ arm a squeeze. “ _Really_ good friends,” he said, winking. He tossed the spliff to the ground, stubbing it out beneath his shoe. “Anyway, I’ve got to go, Lou. Hit me up if you wanna have a toke and watch a game or something. You’ve got my number,” he threw an over-exaggerated smile over his shoulder as he walked off, adding, “friend.” 

Louis watched him walk to his van; his skin-tight jeans snug around his stupid giraffe-legs and cute little bum. 

Friends, then. Friends.


	3. Chapter 3

He got up at four am, was at the diner at four thirty and had the bagels out and the coffee brewed at exactly five. The first couple of early workers started coming in a couple of minutes after he’d flipped the closed-sign around and from then on things got busy. 

Despite the early hours, Louis liked working at Franks Fish n’ Chips. He liked the hectic activity of business-men and college students getting their early morning-fix before their days began. He liked the view and the noises from the train station across from the diner, reminding him that there was a world outside this little town. He liked the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the easy over-the-counter chit chat. He liked being a friendly face to the start of someone’s day. 

Perhaps that was why he survived shifts like these; coming in at half past four am and not leaving before half past four _pm_. It was Thursday today, which meant laundry day, and though Louis had been on his feet since he woke, he wasn’t going to get a sit-down yet. 

He was just making his way down the pavement, strolling the raggedy old shopping cart he stole from Tesco a couple years back, when his phone buzzed. 

**harry styles – ‘lol didnt know u read’**

Louis had to scroll back in the conversation to understand which book-reference joke he’d made. Something about a boy. Or rather, something _about_ About a Boy. 

He threw back a quick ‘ **there are loads of things u dont know about me** ’ at a lack of anything better to respond. He hadn’t actually read the book, only skimmed some of it for school years ago, so he’d rather they get off the topic before he was caught in it. It wasn’t that he needed to impress Harry; it was just that there was no reason to look like an idiot if you could avoid doing so. 

A reply ticked in less than a minute later; ‘ **enough to write a book?** ’ 

‘ **enough to write a franchise** ’ Louis typed back. 

‘ **About a Louis. 10/10 would read.** ’ 

Louis found himself grinning down at his phone. It wasn’t even funny. Harry wasn’t even funny. He was a bit of a dope, really. A dopey drawling ditz. 

Regardless, they’d been texting every day since last they had class together. It started with Harry texting him some stupid knock knock-joke and Louis texting him back to come up with something better to break the ice with and Harry then texting him a screenshot of an ice-peg and asking if that would do. Louis only laughed because he felt bad for him. 

They hadn’t actually seen each other in person since their last class, or even spoken on the phone, but it wasn’t like Louis had the time anyway. As for Harry- 

_Incoming call. Incoming call from 'harry styles'._

Shit. Louis stood for a solid thirty seconds, staring at his display. 

“Oi, watch your step!” someone yelled, because he’d frozen in the middle of the pavement, blocking it with his stolen grocery cart. 

He ripped himself out of his daze and took the call. “Hello?” 

“Hiya. S’Harry.” 

“Yeah, I know, ever heard of caller ID?” 

“No, I’m calling from the 18th century, please enlighten me.” 

Louis rolled his eyes, then caught a glimpse of a digital clock through the window of a tech-shop. “Right, enough with the small-talk, what are you calling me for, Styles? I’m sort of in the middle of something.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Louis sighed. “Go on, then. Why’d you call? Need help with your homework from Einstein reincarnated?” 

“No, this is actually a non-business call.” 

“Wow. Non-business,” Louis parroted, “Harry, are you asking me to go steady with you?” 

“You wish,” Harry snorted. “No, seriously, I was just wondering whether you wanted to hang or something. I’ve just got my Xbox running again and I know you like FIFA, so… And if that’s not enough to persuade you, then I’ve also got weed and beer.” 

Well, it wasn’t un-compelling. But that wasn’t the issue. “I’d love to, but I’ve actually got a lot on my hands right now. Laundry day.” 

“You do your own laundry?” 

The sound of disbelief in Harry’s voice was almost insulting. “Uhm, yeah? Not only that, I do laundry for me entire household.” 

“Wow. You weren’t lying when you said there was a lot I didn’t know about you.” 

Louis glanced at the digital clock again. “Look, I’ve really got to go, Harry. I’d love to hang, but I just don’t, ehm… I don’t have a lot of time on my hands in general, so… And I’ve got to get home and pick up the laundry and then back to the laundromat and hope that I’ve got enough coins in tips to… and christ, I’m ranting. Sorry.” 

“Which laundromat?” 

“What?”

“Is it the one across from that kebab place? Right beside the Red Cross shop?” 

Louis had to do a quick scout of the street, just to make sure Harry wasn’t actually stalking him. “Uhm, yeah, that’s the one. How d’you know?” 

“That’s my laundromat as well. I guess we don’t live too far apart then.” 

“Huh. Guess not.” 

“Anyway, I know this might be a little intrusive or whatever, but… I’ve got a bit of laundry of my own as well, so what do you say I meet you there and we can grab a kebab or something if you’ve got time? My treat.” 

Louis chewed on his fingernail. He’d meant to go grocery shopping while the clothes were laundering, then pop over to the post-office and then stop by the bank if he had the time. But then again, it was actually Niall’s turn to chip in with groceries and the other stuff could wait another day. “All right,” Louis said, “meet you in an hour, then. And you’re bringing weed.” 

“Ai ai, captain.” 

 

An hour and a whole lot of laundry-bags crammed into the stolen grocery cart later, Louis arrived at the laundromat. He was soaked through to his underwear from the rain and his worn-out old sneakers were slushing around his sockless feet with each step he took. 

“Jesus, you’re drenched,” Harry said right as he came in. He was sitting on a bench by the tumble driers, looking much too god in a simple white t-shirt and black jeans. “Where’s your laundry?” 

Where’s _yours_? Louis felt inclined to ask, glancing at the half-empty Tesco bag of socks in front of Harry’s feet. He beckoned for Harry to follow him outside, then rolled the stuffed grocery-cart up to the front step of the laundromat. “Help me out here, will you,” he said, pushing the front wheels against the cement step to the door. 

“Fucking hell, did you rob the salvation army or something?” Harry blurted, grabbing onto the front end of the cart and pulling it inside, “there’s enough laundry for an entire orphanage in here. How often do you wash?” 

“’Bout every other week or so.” 

“Every other _week_?” Harry exclaimed. “Jesus Christ, Louis, how much clothes do you _own_?” 

Louis ignored him, pushing the cart over some empty washing machines. He was in no mood for a cross-examination. “I told you I do laundry for my entire family, stop acting like I’m a freak or summat.” 

“I’m not,” Harry followed behind him with hesitant steps, “I’m not acting like you’re a freak. It’s just… a lot.” 

That was easy to say for someone who only had themselves and their stinky socks to worry about. “Yeah. Well.” 

They didn’t speak for a couple of minutes, loading machines side by side. Once Harry had started his own wash, he wordlessly started grabbing Louis’ bags without having to be asked. Louis didn’t say anything, but had to stifle a fond smile when he noticed him meticulously colour-sorting the clothes on a table. 

“Don’t want your white thongs going pink, do we,” Harry muttered, picking a red sock out of the white wash. 

Louis leant back against a washing machine, crossing his arms loosely over his chest. “No, that’d be quite a shame, wouldn’t it.” 

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, “and your nice bra’s as well. Got to be careful with your lingerie. Make sure not to rip the lace, yeah?” 

Louis chuckled softly. “Yeah.” 

Harry finished sorting, then popped the last of Louis’ laundry in the washer and helped out with a few coins, ignoring Louis’ weak protests. Then he dumped down on a table. Louis was sitting atop of a washing machine now, one leg bent with his chin resting on his knee, and the other one dangling other the edge. 

“So, was that, like, your girlfriend’s lingerie?” Harry asked after a bit. 

“Yeah,” Louis said, watching to see his reaction. 

There wasn’t much to find, other than his mouth cocking slightly to the left and one eyebrow quirking a little. He was lying on his side now, drawing doodles on the table with his finger. “How’s your girlfriend feel about you sucking people’s cocks?” he asked.

“She doesn’t mind,” Louis replied, keeping his poker face. 

“She sounds chill,” Harry drawled.

“She is.” 

Harry nodded, still watching his finger sliding in lazy circles around the table. 

Louis laughed and jumped off of the washing machine, taking two steps over to him and slapping him on the shoulder. “I’m kiiiidding, you big idiot. It’s my sister’s underwear.” 

“Wha’?” 

“I don’t have a freakin’ girlfriend. Now, come on. You owe me a kebab.” 

“Oh. Oh, all right. Yeah.” 

They went across the street and sat down in a stall by the window while they waited for their kebabs. Harry told Louis three stories about his life, then asked him to pick out which one was a lie. Louis got it right on first try, then explained that Harry had Liar’s Twitch on his left eye, a very common syndrome in terrible liars. Harry kicked him under the table, Louis kicked him back, Harry grabbed his ankle and Louis almost slid out of his chair and under the table, laughing and squirming as he tried to wrestle free. An older man at the table next to them shot them a sour look and Louis returned the favour. Harry noticed and licked his lips obscenely at the man, even throwing in a suggestive wink. The man scoffed loudly in outraging, turning all the way around in his chair, and Louis laughed so hard his stomach started to cramp up. 

They took their kebabs back to the laundromat and shared a joint, lying on top of the tumble driers. 

“How come you still live at home, then?” Harry asked. 

Louis rolled onto his side to look at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, like, you’re twenty-one, right? So how come you still live at home with your parents?” 

“Why are you so curious?” It wasn’t really any of Harry’s business; Louis’ private life. Hence, the word _private_. “I just do.” 

Apparently, that was a weird thing to say, because Harry’s brows drew together and he rolled onto his side as well. “Sore spot, huh?” 

“No, I just don’t think there’s anything wrong in sticking with my family.” 

“There’s not.” Harry kept looking at him for too long, like he was trying to figure something out. “There’s not anything wrong in it, I was just curious.” 

Louis sat up again, crumbling his kebab-paper into a ball and tossing it into the bin across the room. “Curiosity killed the cat, Harry.” 

Harry tried to do the same with his kebab-paper, but missed the bin by a lot. “But satisfaction brought it back,” he said, turning to smile at Louis. 

“Ew. Don’t ruin a good saying with your new-age hipster add-ons.” Louis jumped off of the tumble-driers and, to his luck, the last of his washing was ready to be moved. 

They worked together again, but this time not in silence. Harry seemed to have gotten the message about curiosity and cat-killing and whatnot, because he spent the rest of the time in the laundromat either humming melodies and making Louis guess the song or telling dad-jokes so inconceivably bad that they were almost funny in a tragic sort of way. At one point, he made Louis jump into the grocery cart and then made a game out of trying to smash him into different machines without breaking them. He almost, sort of succeeded.

 

It was pitch-black outside once all of Louis’ laundry was dried and folded and back in the stolen grocery cart. They pushed it out onto the pavement and Harry waved toward his van. “Let me drive you home?” 

And this- this was exactly the sort of thing Louis had tried to avoid when he’d been reluctant to hang out with Harry. “No thanks, I’m good.” 

“You sure? You’ve got a lot of stuff there? I really don’t mind,” Harry insisted.

“No. I’m good. I like walking.” 

Harry stood for a few seconds, staring at him. A V was forming between his eyebrows. “But, uhm… like, are you sure? It’s really cold out.” 

“Harry. I’m not a kid. It’s fine.” 

“Yeah I know it’s fine, but I really don’t mind giving you a lift, so I don’t get why you don’t, like…” 

He looked like he could keep going all night. Fucking selfish polite prick. “Harry,” Louis said sternly, “I’m walking home. Good night.” 

With those words, he grabbed a hold of the stolen grocery cart and began marching off. 

“But…”

“I said _good night_ , Harry!” 

 

*

 

The next couple of days Louis didn’t hear from Harry. He didn’t reach out himself either, but he honestly didn’t have the time. 

 

Therefore, he was relieved to find that Harry lit up, smiling, when Louis walked into the auditorium the night of their next class together. He wasn’t cross, then. 

“Hiya,” he said, moving his bag so Louis could take the seat beside him, “you all right?”

“I’m good. You?” Louis met his gaze, looking to find any hint of left-over irritation. If there was any, it was hidden impressively well. 

“Good.” Harry smiled, nodding at the table. Then he looked up at Louis again and there it came, “what was that all about Thursday?” 

“What do you mean?” Louis said, trying to sound breezy and oblivious as if those two words weren’t the epitome of everything that he most definitely was not. 

Harry didn’t buy it either. “You know what I mean, man. You ran off on me when I offered to drive you home and that.” 

“Yeah.” Louis sighed, slumping together in his seat. “I, uhm, I don’t know what was in that kebab I got. I sort of… well, my tummy was acting up, if you get what I’m sayin’…”

“Oh. Oh.” Harry shook his head, giving an embarrassed laugh. “All right, say no more. Fine. Fine. Okay. Great.” 

Great. Now Harry had that image in his head for the rest of the lecture. If Louis was hoping to get him out of his jeans and into a bed anytime soon, he sure as hell was doing a great job at self-sabotaging. 

 

And still, Harry wasn’t easy to deter. After class, when they were standing in their usual crossroad-spot outside the building, he said, “come home with me.” 

Louis blinked at him. “Wow. Forward much?” 

“Nooo.” Harry laughed, slapping his shoulder. “No, I mean, just come hang for a bit. I’ve still got that beer leeeeft.” 

Louis glanced toward Harry’s van, then to the dark road he was supposed to walk home on. It was a compelling offer, but- “I can’t. I’ve got a bunch of stuff on my plate.” 

“Lou- _is_ ,” Harry pushed out his bottom lip and batted his lashes, “come _oooon_. Come play with me.” He poked Louis in the shoulder and Louis raised his brows at him, fighting to stop the spread of his smile. “Lou- _iiis_. I’ve got beer. I’ve got cable. I’ve got left-over pizza. Come _ooon_. You know you want to.” 

And he did, was the thing. It also wasn’t the issue. “Harry, I-” Harry’s hand had found his arm now, tugging at him and Louis looked up to meet those big twinkly green eyes and then he thought- fuck it. Maybe he could let himself be selfish just for one night. “All right, give me a second.” 

 

He stepped aside and pulled out his phone. 

‘ **Got everything covered at home? Got to take care of something for a couple hours. Be back before midnight** ’ he texted Niall. 

A few moments of circling around himself later, he got the reply ‘ **all good boss. Go get dicked ;)** ’ 

Jesus Christ, was he this obvious? 

He walked back to Harry, smiling a little too widely and gave a boyish head-tilt. “Well,” he said, “it seems I’m not needed after all. Guess I can devote a bit of my valuable time to you, then.” 

Harry threw his arms up like a child, giving a weak-voiced “ _yaaay_!” 

 

The inside of Harry’s van was cleaner than Louis had expected, judging from the rusty outsides. Sure, the panels were old and somewhat dusty, but the seats were upholstered in nice dark leather without too many stains on them and the floors were devoid of any empty soda cans or sticky candy wrappers. Nothing like Louis’ car – if he had one. 

“Why’ve you got a minivan?” Louis asked as they were pulling out of the parking lot. 

Harry had one hand on the wheel, driving with a sexy sort of fluency, movements so smooth and easy, like he’d done them a million times before. Which he probably had. “Why _not_ , is the question you should be asking,” Harry said, pulling them onto the main road. 

His free hand was wrapped around the gearstick, only moving it occasionally. Louis watched how his long thick fingers wrapped around the stick, his thumb tapping lightly on the top of it, and tried to ignore where his desperately sex-deprived mind automatically went. 

“Come on, don’t be stupid,” he muttered, pinning his gaze to the windscreen before him, “I just mean, like, why a van? What are you hiding there in the back? Are you smuggling people or something?”

Harry glanced at him, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe,” he said lowly. 

“Oh my,” Louis replied around his grin, “riding with a delinquent, am I?” 

“Yeah. I’m a very bad boy,” Harry said as he turned down a side-street with a big easy roll of the wheel, but his voice wasn’t flirtatious. In fact, it came out so matter-of-fact that Louis barked a laugh. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to get in a van with strange men, Louis?” 

Louis glanced into the back of the van, but there was a concrete wall separating the front and the back of it. “You are getting me curious though. What _is_ in the back?” 

Harry chuckled. “Just a mattress and a load of old rubbish I need to take to the junkyard. Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid.” 

“Boring.” 

“I’m sorry, hun.” He threw Louis a wide smile, his cheeks dimpling up, and yeah, Louis could see how that could get him away with almost anything. 

 

Five minutes later, Harry pulled into a resident parking lot by a big grey concrete building with a front sign spelling out ‘ **TILBURY HOUSE** ’. 

“Ehm, Harry, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but… are you institutionalized?” Louis asked as they stepped out of the car and headed for the entrance. 

Harry laughed. “Not quite, no. It’s a youth accommodation. I share a kitchen with thirty other people, but on the up side I have my own bathroom.” 

“Wizzer…” 

Right as they walked into the stairway, a guy who absolutely reeked of marihuana and old cheese was coming out. The stairway itself had a slight odour of piss and puke to it and a pair of muddy panties lied crumbled up in a corner by a door. 

“Don’t worry,” Harry said as he walked them to the second floor and began unlocking his door, “my place’s a bit cleaner than out here.”

“It’s all right. I’ve seen worse,” Louis said, and it wasn’t even close to being a lie. 

They were locked into Harry’s place, or rather _room_ , and he wasn’t lying when he said it was cleaner in here; in fact, it was practically stripped. 

The room, which was square and small, had next to no furniture in it. The floors were a smooth light wood, completely uncarpeted, the walls screaming white. The only thing that gave the place any sort of personality were a few band posters and a framed sepia-filter photo of a gawky-looking skinny guy in a housecoat hanging on the wall. In one corner stood a mini fridge, beside it a kettle on the floor, a few cereal boxes and packs of minute noodles. In another was a mattress flat on the floor, at the foot of it an old-fashioned fat-backed telly, an Xbox and various video games and DVD’s messily piled in front of it. Apart from that, the only other ‘furniture’ in the room were two open suitcases of clothes by the mattress and a few bags and knick-knacks tossed in different corners. 

“Uhm… Nice pad, mate.” Louis stood in the entrance, tugging at the sleeve of his sweater. He wasn’t used to finer things than this, in fact this place was probably nicer than anywhere _he’d_ ever lived, but it’d been a long time since he’d been in a home that had so little… _life_ in it. “How long’ve you, eh… how long’ve you lived here?” 

“’Bout six months.” Harry moved past him, tossing his bag on the mattress and heading for the mini fridge. “Beer?” 

“Please.” Louis moved a little further into the room, running his fingers over the frame of the sepia-photo with the guy in the housecoat. “Who is this?” 

“What?” Harry moved up to his side and handed him a cold beer. “Oh, that’s no one. Some model, I guess. I found it in a second-hand-shop and I just took it ‘cause it came with the frame. And I like his housecoat. Nice tassels on the straps, don’t you think?” 

Louis gave him a sceptic side-glance. “Yeah…” He moved past Harry, uncapping his beer and gulping down a big swig before he plopped down on the mattress. “Six months, huh? How come you don’t live with your parents?” 

“Long story. Boring shit.” Harry dumped down beside him, flicking on the telly. “Anyway, switch the channel if you want, I’ll get the pizza.” He handed Louis the remote and got up to open the mini-fridge again. He came back with a Domino’s box, held up on stretched fingers like a proper Italian pizza-deliverer. “Want it cold or hot?” 

Louis looked around himself. Harry didn’t even have a stove. “Is hot even a possibility?” 

“Course it is.” 

“All right, then. Hot, please.” 

Harry nodded. “Be right back. Just got to go to the kitchen. My microwave broke. Shitty old thing.” 

Louis cackled as he walked off, relaxing back on the abundance of random pillows on his mattress. He supposed Harry had enough life in him to make up for the barrenness of this place. 

Once he came back, Louis was watching some B-movie that’d just begun, and Harry dumped down beside him, placing the pizza between them. 

“Ew. Pineapples? Really?” Louis picked the saggy thing off of his slice and dropped it back in the box. “I thought you had taste, man.” 

“Oi, pineapple is an essential part of any good pizza. Sugar and spice, Louis.” He took a huge bite in his huge mouth and added, “can't have one without the other.” 

“You’ve got tomato sauce running down your chin.” 

Louis considered offering to get it for Harry, just to get things going a little, but decided against it; there was no reason to go right to the dicking when they had pizza. Pizza first, dick after. 

The movie they were watching was so bad it was funny and afterwards came a Piranha 3D, a personal favourite of Louis’. There was something about movies that were made so extremely badly without making any excuses for it that he liked; at least they weren’t trying to pretend to be something they weren’t. 

Harry didn’t agree. 

“That’s not even fucking… no… no… what... _what_? _How_? How do you survive getting your dick cut off like that? Louis, how?” 

“I don’t bloody well know, ask someone who’s had their dick cut off!” 

“I can’t, can I? He’d be dead before I got to ask him, ‘cause it’s not humanly possible to survive!” 

Louis sighed exasperatedly. “Are you seriously sitting here, getting worked up over what’s ‘humanly possible’ in fucking Piranha 3D?” 

“Right.” Harry closed the pizza box and pushed it off the mattress, “touché.” 

The movie came to a break and they sat for a few seconds, watching a diaper commercial. Little blue drops were falling out of a baby’s bum and a much too excited Colgate-teethed mum was cheering the baby on and clapping like he’d just won gold in the Olympics. 

“How come it’s never men in those commercials?” Louis muttered. 

Harry glanced at him from the side. “What do you mean?” 

“Like… have you ever seen a diaper commercial or a baby food commercial or summat, where it’s the dad they show with the kid?” 

“I don’t know. No, I guess,” Harry muttered, “it _is_ kind of sexist to women, yeah. As if they’re the only ones who have to take care of the kid."

“Yeah, but it’s also kind of rude to dad’s, innit. Just pushing them completely out of the picture. As if men don't take care of their kids as well.” 

“Right…” Harry shifted onto his side to look at Louis. “Right, yeah… Anyway, are you sleeping over?” 

And _wow_ , that escalated quickly. Which was good, because Louis was running out of dicking-time and he most definitely couldn’t ‘sleep over’. He moved onto his side to look Harry properly in the eye and smiled. “I can’t, I’ve got work early in the morning. But I’ve got about an hour before I have to go.” 

This was Harry’s cue to put his hands on him. They’d eaten, they’d chatted, they’d been lying on a mattress together for far too long without touching. Now was the moment. And then, “what do you work with?” 

Louis blinked at him. “Beg your pardon?” 

“What do you work with? You never told me,” Harry said. He was completely straight-faced.

“Uhm… just… work in retail,” Louis muttered, thrown. “At a fish n’ chips shop.” 

Harry nodded. “For how long?” 

“What?”

“For how long? How long’ve you worked there?”

Louis’ brows were compulsorily drawing farther and farther together. Why was he suddenly being interviewed when he was supposed to be groped and snogged and fucked? “I don’t, eh… a year or so, I think.” 

“Hmm... And what did you do before?” 

Louis couldn’t stop his laugh this time. “Okay, what’s with the twenty questions?” 

Harry looked like that was a weird thing to ask. Repeat; _Harry_ looked like _Louis_ was the one asking unfitting questions. “Just curious,” he said. “I hardly know anything about you, other than that you’ve got terrible taste in movies and that you’re taking the same course as me ‘cause you failed your GCSE’s.” 

“Why do you need to know more?” 

Now Harry was full-on frowning. He rolled onto his back, then sat up. “You’re being weird, I’m just asking normal questions to know things about you.” He grabbed the pizza box and empty beer cans. “Gonna get some more beer. Want?” 

“Uhm… yeah, all right.” Louis watched him walk off, wondering what the hell was going on. He never thought he was _this_ bad at picking up signals. And also, how could he have possibly read Harry sucking him off in a bathroom stall only a couple weeks ago and now asking him to sleep over wrong? How could that possibly be interpreted as anything but ‘I want to dick you till the break of dawn’? 

Still, nothing happened. 

They had some more beer, watched some more telly and then Harry insisted on driving Louis home, despite his protests. Louis ended up making him drop him off at 7-Eleven just to avoid having to lie about where he lived.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song suggestion:
> 
> Higher Love - cover by James McMorrow

It went on in the same way for several weeks. Every week, after their class together, they went to Harry’s and hung out. They smoked up, drank beer, ate take-away and watched telly or played Xbox. They chatted about everything that didn’t have to do with themselves and they laughed until they almost choked. They even fell asleep on Harry’s bed one time and Louis woke up with him draped halfway across his back. 

And still- nothing. No touching, no rubbing, not so much as an itty bitty peck on the lips. 

Louis didn’t want to instigate because as little as he wanted to admit it, he’d sort of come to like Harry. Sort of come to need these evenings off, just relaxing on his mattress and forgetting the outside world for a while. If he did anything to ruin what they had, he wouldn’t just lose Harry; he’d also lose those couple of hours a week that were just for him. 

That wasn’t to say it was easy. 

One evening in particular, they were lounging on Harry’s mattress, Louis borrowing his laptop to finish an essay and Harry lying beside him with earphones in, listening to music on his phone. Louis had been touching up on the last essay of the course for over an hour, bent over the laptop with his back rested against the hard wall behind him and his neck was starting to ache from it. He had to have been stretching and cracking it a lot, because, completely out of the blue, Harry muttered, “neck hurt?” 

“Hm. Bit sore,” Louis replied, rolling his head around a little, and then straightening his shoulders out before concentrating back on the computer-screen again. “S’okay.” 

A big slipped onto the back of his neck. Louis glanced over at Harry questioningly and Harry gave a him small smile, saying, “s’okay, I like massaging.” 

“You sure?” 

Harry retracted his hand, but he was nodding. He propped a few pillows up behind his back and straightened up, then spread his bended legs and patted the space in front of him. “Come,” he said, “I’ll give you a rub.” 

“Uhm… yeah, all right.” Louis crawled into the space, then hesitated for a bit before relaxing back against Harry’s warm broad torso. “Thanks.” 

“S’all right. I really don’t mind.” 

Harry fingers were warm on Louis’ neck and shoulders, strong thumbs digging in where his nerves were sorest and driving up to the base of his skull. The telly was off and they were sitting in comfortable silence together, only interrupted by Louis’ content hums and slight winces as Harry dug his fingers up and into his tender spots. His legs were pressed against Louis’ sides, his arms around his shoulders and his chest expanding and sinking against Louis’ back. It felt nice, being wrapped up in him like this; his heat, his smell and his size. Protective. 

But it also wasn’t quite enough. Not at this point, anyway. He wanted Harry’s fingers to move down; down his chest and over his stomach, or up; over his jaw and into his mouth. He wanted to be touched and kissed and bitten and to be wanted; wanted like Louis wanted him. “Harry, I-”

“Hear this,” Harry said at exactly the same moment. He placed one of his earphones inside Louis’ ear, “it’s really nice.” 

A high-pitched man’s voice streamed through the earphone. It wasn’t something Louis would’ve found himself, but it was nice. Sensitive. Sort of vulnerable. Louis found himself slumping back against Harry, settling into the slow-sung tune. Harry had stopped massaging now, but his hands were still rested on Louis’ shoulders, his fingers tapping lightly in tune with the melody. 

“It’s a cover of an older song,” he murmured after a few seconds, his breath heating the back of Louis’ head, “Higher Love by Steve Winwood. But the guy who’s covering it is James McMorrow. You heard of him?” 

Louis nuzzled a little further back into him and hummed back, “no, don’t think I have. S’nice though.” 

“M-hm,” Harry said against his hair, “he’s got a really amazing voice.” He stretched his legs out, hooking his feet over Louis’ shins, wrapping Louis up in him even further, “don’t you think?” 

“M-hm.” 

They didn’t speak for a while, just sat closely, listening to the music. The song ended and another one came on and they were still sitting there. 

It should be calming, a moment of serenity, but instead of relaxing with it, Louis felt his heartbeat speeding up the longer they stayed close. He had to make a move and he had to make it now. It scared him a little bit, sort of like he was a kid again, trying to muster up the courage to kiss his first girlfriend. It was strange with Harry. Different than his usual flings. It seemed the longer they didn’t kiss, the more Louis wanted it. 

Slowly, he moved his hand up toward his own collarbone, where he found the tips of Harry’s fingers. They twitched a little at the touch and Louis’ buzzed from the feel of it. Harry didn’t protest when Louis moved his hand upwards until all of their fingers were intertwined. He took a shaky breath, then tugged gently on Harry’s hand. It came downwards until it was a level with Louis’ mouth, the back of his brushing softly over his cheek. 

Harry hadn’t said anything, but Louis could feel his heartbeat hammering against his back. He wanted it too. He had to. Louis moved his face slowly, until he could brush his lips against the back of Harry’s hand. He could feel and hear Harry swallowing against him.

Neither of them spoke for a few heavy seconds. Louis swore he could feel Harry moving. Coming closer to him, breathing heavily on him. Wanting him too. And then- the brush of plush lips against the back of his ear, wrapping softly around the shell of it. Louis gave out another shaky breath, feeling shivers going down his neck from where Harry’s lips were on him. It was so little it was almost too much. 

And then- thundering loud knocking on the door. 

Harry flew back from Louis and Louis sighed loudly, slumping forward. So fucking close. “Who’s that?” he couldn’t help it if he sounded pissed off. 

“Probably one of my housemates,” Harry said, pushing Louis gently and then getting up. 

Louis regretfully watched him walking off, wondering if they’d be snogging now if they hadn’t been interrupted. Wondering whether Harry was disappointed or relieved. 

He heard Harry open the door and chat to someone, but couldn’t make out the words. A couple seconds later, Harry popped in again with an apologetic smile on his face. “Lou, I totally forgot I promised to take a look at Alexander’s faucet.” Another bloke popped his head in, waving. “That’s him,” Harry said, pushing his head out of Louis’ view again, “he’s got the same sink as me, but he’s got two left hands. I’ll only be five minutes. Don’t leave.” 

Louis glanced at the clock; he really couldn’t stay much longer. Especially not if he was staying just to sit here alone with half an untouched chub on. But he couldn’t find it in himself to say no either. Not when Harry was looking like at him like that. Looking like that. “All right,” he sighed, “I’ll just finish up my essay.” 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Harry’s head disappeared, but then reappeared a second later, and he added, “five minutes, Louis. I’ll only be five minutes. Promise.” 

Louis nodded. So maybe Harry was disappointed as well. 

 

Fifteen minutes and a finished essay later, Harry came back. He apologized profusely for taking too long and Louis rolled his eyes and told him it was fine. As for now, it wasn’t a lie. As long as Harry didn’t leave again in a minute. While he’d been gone, Louis had called Niall and been thoroughly assured that everything was fine at home and that he needed to stop worrying so much and just get his stupid brain fucked senseless.

If only Harry would let him already.

Louis’ impatience must’ve been showing on his face because Harry wavered awkwardly before him on the floor, and asked, “you all right? You look a bit, uhm… I dunno…”

“No, I’m good. Fine.” 

Harry nodded. “Right. Good.” They were quiet for a few seconds. “Well. Want some tea?” 

“Yeah. Tea. Great.” 

Why was this suddenly so awkward? 

Harry made them Yorkshire with two drops of milk and then sat down beside Louis, who’d turned on the telly to drown out the awkward silence. 

“Did you finish your essay?” Harry asked.

“Yeah.” 

“Good. Kind of weird how the course’s coming to an end soon, isn’t it? Feel like we’ve been going there for ages.” 

“Yeah.” Louis sipped some tea and his slurping sounds felt louder than the telly. “Yeah,” he muttered into his cup. “I should go soon.” This was too awkward and Harry obviously didn’t want him here, let alone want him in his bed. 

Harry sighed, but didn’t reply for a few seconds and Louis ignored the slight sting of hurt. He could’ve at least pretended that Louis wasn’t right in his suspicions. 

But then it came, “how come you’re always in such a hurry?” 

Louis frowned at him. “What do you mean?” 

“You’ve always got to go. You’ve always got somewhere to be. You can never just hang in the spur of the moment.” He took a sip of tea, then looked Louis straight in the eye, “and you never want to tell me anything about yourself.” 

“That’s rich coming from you.” 

“I’ve told you most of what there is to say about me. And you’ve seen my place. And I can hang when you want to. But I don’t get why we always have to hang out on your premise’s. I don’t mind it that much, but I just don’t get how you’re always so busy, but you keep saying that you have nothing to say about your life. Is it just a lot of work, or?” 

This was getting to be too much. Louis supposed he could understand Harry’s frustration, but he knew that Harry wouldn’t be able to cope if he told him the truth. Wasn’t really sure whether he wanted him to know it. This; his time with Harry, was his me-time, his little break from the stress of his life. If he let Harry in and let him see what was really going on, who he really was, then he’d take that me-time away from himself. Then he’d be the real Louis to Harry as well as to everyone else, and Harry wouldn’t see him as the funny easy-going young guy he’d gotten to know and like anymore. And he sure as hell wouldn’t fit into the truth of who Louis was, even if he’d think he wanted to. 

“It’s a lot of things, Harry,” Louis said, patting him on the thigh, “but it’s nothing I want to talk about right now.” 

“But why not?” 

Louis sighed. “Why do you care so much?” 

Harry looked at him incredulously. “Why do I care so much? Is that caring too much? Wanting to know what the hell is going on in your life? Have you ever had a proper friendship before, Louis? You can’t just get to know the jokey side of someone and think that’s enough. And…” He looked down into his tea, tipping the contents from side to side, “like I don’t have a lot of friends in town. Not like you, anyway. People I actually feel at home with. I’m not trying to be intrusive or anything, but… it just seems like you think you can’t trust me with whatever it is that’s going on with you. But you can.” He looked up, serious. “You can, and I won’t run away. I’m not something you’ve built up in your head, you can’t predict my reaction even if you think that you can. I know myself, Louis, and I know that there’s not much that scares me. So please tell me. What’s with you?” 

Louis bit his lip, looking at him. Perhaps parts of what he said were true. Perhaps they weren’t. There wasn’t really any way to know for sure apart from trusting him. 

Harry shoulder-bumped him gently and gave a small smile. “Come on, man. I’m a big boy. What is it? You a serial killer or something? Get off on torturing animals? Justin Bieber-fan?” 

Louis didn’t even have it in himself to roll his eyes. “You really want to know?” he asked.

“I really want to know.” 

“And you promise that you won’t be all open and breezy and act like you’re not shocked at all?” 

Harry smiled. “Promise.” 

“And you promise not to make me feel like a horrible person for not telling you about this huge part of me earlier either?” 

“Promise,” Harry chuckled, “and by the way, if you’re about to come out of the closet, I already know you’re bent like a nine-bob note, so you can spare me the-”

“I’ve got seven children.” 

Harry barked a laugh. “What?” 

“I have got,” Louis repeated firmly, “ _seven_ children.” 

“Oh.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to explain that i tweaked some of the ages of Louis' siblings and also Freddie, because i wanted it to fit with them all living at home and of course the storyline. So if you notice that some of the ages are definitely not coherent in relation to each other, that's because they aren't and they aren't supposed to be. :)

His alarm went off at precisely five am. He stopped snoozing it at precisely five thirty am. The twins were awake already like usual, his own little human alarm clocks if the one on his phone didn’t do the trick. They were purring sleepily, clawing at his face and rolling around in bed, chattering to each other. 

“Morning, bub,” Louis said as he got a sticky little fist slapped onto his face. Ernest was inches away from his face, pulling at his cheeks and poking him in the forehead. 

“Lou, Schoo. Schoo,” he insisted. “Schoo.”

Louis picked him up on one arm, then his sister on the other, and dragged his body out of bed. “Yeah yeah,” he sighed, “school.” 

He didn’t know when the two toddlers had picked up on the fact that school was the most important thing to get ready for in the morning, but he supposed they just looked up to their older siblings. Ernest sure seemed to be counting the days until he was old enough to go to primary. 

Louis woke all the big girls by sticking a hand up into their shared loft-bed and pulling on their ankles till they tried to kick him in the face. Ever since they were evicted from their old house, the concept of personal space had become nothing but an ancient myth. The trailer they lived in now wasn’t big, definitely wasn’t designed to fit a family of eight, plus a Niall, but they’d made do with it anyway. Louis slept on the double bed/daytime couch and eating area, together with Doris and Ernest, Freddie slept in his leg-less crib beside them, Niall on a fold-out mattress on the floor and Phoebe, Daisy, Fizzy and Lottie all on the loft bed above the kitchen area. 

No, the trailer didn’t offer enough space to call it personal, but it offered them a roof above their heads and the ability to eat, sleep and shower and that was enough to call them content. Besides, the only other alternative would be sleeping on the street and Louis didn’t really fancy the prospects of ever going back to that. 

“What fuckin’ fuckhead nicked all my motherfucking tampons?!” Lottie screamed from the toilet. 

“No one nicked your fuckin’ kitchen roll size tampons, it’s not my fault you bleed like a goddamn tsunami!” Fizzy screamed back from the loft bed. 

Someone stepped on Niall, who was still asleep on his floor-mattress, and he gave a load groan, then threw an arm out and accidentally tripped Daisy so she fell over Freddie’s crib and woke him, resulting in loud screaming. 

“Oh for god’s sake.” Louis inched past Phoebe, still with a two-year-old on either arm, and somehow managed to pick their cereal and plastic bowls out of a kitchen cabinet. He walked them back to the bed again, sat them down on it and arranged their breakfast on their shared tray. “Try not to spill, guys.” 

He picked Freddie out of his crib, cradling him at his chest. He bopped him gently up and down until his cries turned to little purring sounds at his collarbone. 

“Oi,” Louis kicked Niall in the flank, “mate. Take Fred’s for a sec.” 

Niall groaned again, but sat up reluctantly and took the baby into his arms. Louis turned to continue his morning routine. 

He warmed formula for Freddie and handed it over to Niall. He cleaned up the cereal that the toddlers had spilled all-over their breakfast trey, then took off their bibs, changed their diapers on the ironing board/changing table, got them dressed and put them back in bed. He took Freddie off of Niall’s hands, changed his diaper, got him dressed and handed him back to Niall. He dragged Fizzy out of bed and forced her to eat something, then helped Phoebe find a pair of clean trousers and Daisy find her math book. He made four sandwiches, packed them in four brown paper bags, handed them to the school-going girls and saw them off. He filled the dishwasher, swiped the kitchen counter, picked a few toys and tampon wrappers off the floor, pushed the ironing board/changing table back in the closet, and then- then he sat down on the kitchen counter to have a cup of tea.

“Who’s turn is it to buy groceries?” he asked Niall. 

“Mine, I reckon. I’ll do it while you’re at work today,” Niall muttered while playing with Freddie’s fingers and poking him in his chubby baby-face. “What time were you working again?” 

“I go in at ten. Leave around five.” 

“Right.” Niall’s lips quirked upwards in cheeky grin. “And what time was your boyfriend coming?” 

Louis yanked his fag out of his mouth. “Okay, seriously; you can tease me all you want, but if you even so much as _think_ of saying something like that in front of him tonight then you are out on your arse faster than you can say your own name.” 

“Niall,” Niall said, and then, “ _wow_ , that’s fast.” 

Louis rolled his eyes. “But I mean it. You guys have got to be on your best behaviour. I really, really want to get in this guy’s pants and it’s proving a difficult task. Don’t ask me why.” 

“What the fuck, I thought you’d already sucked his cock?” 

“Not in front of the children!” Louis gasped, a gust of cigarette-smoke blowing into the room. He waved the worst of it out the window with his hand. 

Niall cackled. “As if they won’t learn it the minute they start school anyway.” 

“Schoo!” Ernest blurted automatically. “Star schoo!” 

Louis chuckled at the eager two-year-old. “I have a feeling this one’s going to be the first one in the fam to go to uni,” he said.

“Or _maybe_ he just can’t wait to go out and meet girls.” 

“Don’t say that,” Louis protested, “besides, you don’t know if he’s even into girls.” 

“Pretty sure he is. You should’ve seen how he charmed this little Chinese kid at the playground the other day. Poor girl never stood a chance.” 

Louis laughed. “God. Proper little flirt already.” 

“Yup. Now, back to your new boyfriend. What was his name again?” 

“Harry.” 

“Harry. All right. Please, for the love of God, tell me he’s got money.” 

Louis scrunched his nose a little, tilting his head from side to side in uncertainty. “It’s hard to say. Can’t quite figure out whether he’s poor or just too lazy to furnish his flat. Dude doesn’t even have a dresser.” 

“Christ, what a loser.”

Louis shot Niall a pitying look. “Mate, you live on a fold-out mattress in a trailer that isn’t even yours. You do not get to call _anyone_ a loser.” 

“Oh jeez,” Niall’s smiled widened, “you’re in love with this guy, aren’t you?” 

Louis tossed his cig out of the window and slammed it closed. “No, I’m not _in love_ , you moron.” 

“Are ya suuure?” 

“Yes I’m sure, I haven’t even kissed him yet.” 

Niall’s mouth dropped open. “Fucking hell, this guy’s gotta be hot. I can’t remember the last time you dated anyone for more than five minutes before spreading your legs.” 

“Shut up,” Louis muttered, “and yeah,” he tacked on after a beat, “he is _really_ fuckin’ fit.” 

 

*

Frank’s Fish n’ Chips was buzzing with activity that Friday afternoon; loads of city people coming in from the train station on weekend family-visit. Louis loved his Friday shifts for this reason; getting to see new faces and hairstyles and coats that didn’t have two fake Adidas-stripes down the length of their sleeves. He also loved it because he was working the counter with Zayn. 

Zayn had worked at Frank’s for about half the amount of time that Louis had, and ever since their first ‘taking out the trash, but really just having a cigarette and a chat’-break together, he’d been Louis’ favourite colleague. Also, he wasn’t stingy with cigarette’s, so that was always a plus. 

“I just don’t get what it is with these birds, like,” Zayn said as he came out of the staff toilets after five minutes of hiding, “can’t’ they just like… like, take a hint?” 

“Mate, you sleeping with them and never calling them back and then hiding whenever they come by the shop is not a ‘ _hint_ ’.” 

“Is so.” Zayn did another quick scout of the tables around the shop, just to make sure he was in the clear, before turning to Louis again, “dude, if a guy fucks you and never calls you back, wouldn’t you automatically take that as a hint that he’s not interested in seeing you again?” 

“Oh, but that wouldn’t happen to me,” Louis replied simply. 

“What? Why not?” 

Louis looked up from where he was swiping the counters, giving Zayn his most angelic grin, “because I’m preeeeetty.” 

“All right,” Zayn snickered and pinched his cheek, “speaking of pretty…” he added, then shoulder-bumped Louis to get him to look up. “Isn’t that something for you, Lou?”

Louis sighed, then gave in and looked across the room toward the entrance. And yeah, that was something for him; in black skinny jeans so tight they made sure not one person missed the fact that he was particularly well-endowed, a khaki-coloured old Beatles t-shirt and his hair in perfect disarray, there came exactly the man for Louis. Louis didn’t miss the way several heads turned as the man walked across the room toward the counter, young girls exchanging looks and giggles as he passed them. Or the way Harry didn’t notice at all.

“Hiya,” he said, slapping both his big hands onto the counter that Louis just swiped. Louis didn’t mind. Harry could smear his hands in motor oil and pat them all over Louis’ apron shirt and he still wouldn’t mind. He could throw Louis up on the counter right now and smear him up and down in anything he wanted.

“Ehm,” Louis said, coughing himself back to reality, “hi, Haz. I’ll be off in a minute, just got to swipe a few tables.” Behind him, Zayn cleared his throat loudly and it almost physically hurt for Louis not to roll his eyes at that. “Harry, this is Zayn, my colleague,” he sighed, “Zayn, this is Harry, my friend from class.” 

Zayn threw and over-eager arm past Louis to shake Harry’s hand. “Hey, man,” he said, “what’s up?” 

Now, normally, Louis could trust Harry to charm the pants off of anyone the second he flashed that big dimply smile of his. Louis could trust him with people. Maybe not with himself, but with people. But today, Harry didn’t smile. He gave a polite sort of head-nod, a little forced pull on the corners of his mouth and then a muttered “all right, thanks”. And then nothing more. 

Louis didn’t have the time to ponder over what the hell that was about. He threw a wet cloth across the last of his tables, tossed the cloth and his apron in the hamper out back and then stopped for three seconds to fix his fringe in the mirror above the sink. He came back out, to where Harry and Zayn were standing in awkward silence, and quickly pulled Harry out of the shop by his wrist. They hopped into Harry’s rusty old minivan, clicked on their seatbelts and then Harry asked him “where to, then?” 

And then the nerves kicked in. 

“Oh.” Louis looked at him, not speaking for several seconds. Harry looked right back, his brows slowly moving up until they almost touched his hairline. “Oh yeah.” 

“Yeah?” If possible, Harry raised his brows even further. “We’re going to your place, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah.” His stomach was doing a stupid twisty thing, like it was trying to strangle itself from the inside. He’d known about this evening for several weeks, after finally giving into Harry’s begging. He’d known about it. He just hadn’t let himself _think_ about it. And now they were here, staring at each other in a still-standing old minivan. Louis briefly considered if he might as well just fake a stroke while he was at it. But no. No, he was a grown man, wasn’t he? “Right, uhm, well… it’s… it’s…” _Wasn’t_ he? “Yeah, the address is…” Apparently, no. He wasn’t. 

“Hey,” Harry said, and yeah, there was that big dimply smile. Soft eyes. A hand on Louis’ knee. “Relax. You live in a trailer, right? I know that. And there are loads of kids in there? I know that as well. Have I been scared away yet? No.” He squeezed Louis’ knee, and said, “just guide me while I drive, okay? Can you handle that?” 

Louis nodded. “I can handle that.” 

Harry smiled again and gave Louis another squeeze, this time on the thigh, before he moved his hand to the ignition. “Great. Then take me home, Tomlinson.” 

 

Slowly, Louis guided Harry through town, down side street after side-street, until convenience shops turned to abandoned petrol stations and normal roads turned to broken crusts of asphalt. As much as he knew Harry would never outwardly judge him, Louis kept finding himself glancing over at him, wondering when he’d let the mask fall. When he’d realise that Louis was worth so little, both in earnings and social status, that his feelings weren’t anything one needed to worry about. 

It didn’t come, at least not that day. 

They finally pulled into the large concrete lot behind the abandoned, asbestos-ridden building/unofficial homeless and heroin-addict shelter, and Louis was a bag of nerves. The lot that he’d more or less illegally parked his trailer in, was once meant to be used as an outdoor basketball-court for keeping kids off the streets, but the idea had been dropped when no one really felt like funding the project. Now it was left empty, save for broken bricks, booze bottles and discarded, tire-less bicycles left lying around. 

And then there’, lying lonely in the farthest corner of the lot, was the matte blue trailer Louis called home. 

“That’s the one?” Harry asked as they were parked, about fifty metres away from the trailer. Louis wasn’t quite sure why they hadn’t driven closer to the trailer before stopping, or why he felt a little bit like Harry had read his mind when he chose not to. Neither of them had unclicked their seatbelts and Louis was hoping they wouldn’t have to for a bit. Just a little bit. 

“That’s the one,” he said. “Home sweet home.” 

“Looks cosy,” Harry replied, and if Louis didn’t know better, he’d say he was telling the truth. 

Maybe it was because it was home and he knew the life inside the trailer, but Louis did think it looked rather cosy, in a ‘home is where the heart is’ sort of way. Yellowish light was flashing through the blinds and he thought he could see Daisy or Phoebe walking back and forth in there behind them. He could almost hear them screaming at Niall to put some trousers on before Harry came over. 

“Yeah, it’s… well, you know. It’s no palace, I mean…” 

“It’s nice, Louis,” and there was the hand again, resting on Louis’ knee, giving a reaffirming squeeze, “I’m just looking forward to seeing your family.” 

Louis looked up into Harry’s soft eyes and wondered why it felt like they were already boyfriends when they hadn’t even kissed yet. It was dangerous thinking, though. Playing with the thought of having someone like Harry as a regular official part of his life. Implying that they owed something to one another. Implying the promise of sticking around. Much too dangerous to ever work out. “Don’t expect too much,” Louis said.

“I’m not expecting anything, Lou. Relax.” Harry smiled, a private closed-lipped sort of smile that Louis’ would’ve called patronizing if it came from anyone but Harry, “we go in when you say. We can just sit here until you’re ready to take me in there.” 

And yeah, maybe Harry could read his mind. Or maybe Louis was just more obvious than he thought. “Right. Well,” Louis unclicked his seatbelt in a quick resolute movement, “right, lets,” he fiddled with the doorhandle, but it wouldn’t give, “let’s get… urgh…”

Harry moved a hand over him and unlocked the door in one smooth movement, pushing it open and smiling at Louis, and wow, his face was close suddenly. “S’a bit of a bugger, that door. You’ve got to give it a good pull to make it give,” Harry said, still staying too close for good measure. 

“Thanks,” Louis croaked. 

For another two seconds, Harry stayed close, still smiling just a little. “All right, then,” he said eventually, “you ready to go in?” 

Louis cleared his throat. “Yeah.” Kiss me. Kiss me, then, you fucking idiot. He _almost_ said it. 

Harry nodded. “Then let’s go in,” he said, then moved out of Louis’ space and jumped out of his side of the car. 

Louis let out a long shaky exhale. This _fucking_ tease. 

 

They trotted alongside each other across the gravelly concrete lot, shoulders brushing every so often. 

“All right, so, just before we go in. The ten-year-old twins are Phoebe and Daar…. _aisy_. Phoebe and Daisy. Right?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah. Phoebe and Daisy.” 

“And the oldest one is Lottie. And then there’s…?” 

Louis chuckled at Harry, who looked like he was trying to solve a very difficult math equation. “All right, quick recap for you; oldest sibling apart from meself is Lottie. She’s fifteen. The second oldest is Fizzy, she’s twelve. I’m not sure whether the big girls are home yet, but you’ll meet them later. And then there are the ten-year-old’s, Phoebe and Daisy. I think they’re home now. And of course the toddler twins, Doris and Ernest. They’re two.” 

“Right. And who’s babysitting right now? The ten-year-old’s?” 

“Oh no, that’s Niall.” 

“Right. The irish…?” 

“Childhood friend, slash couch-surfer, slash baby-sitter, slash platonic life-partner.” 

Harry nodded. “Right. Right. Okay. Got it. And then… so you’re related to everyone except for Niall. But they’re not your actual children, right?” 

“No, they’re all my younger siblings. Except for-” Louis was interrupted by a loud squeal coming from inside the trailer. Speak of the devil, “Freddie.” 

“Freddie. And he’s yours, yeah?” 

Louis nodded. “Yeah. Freddie’s my son. He’s three months old. Don’t ask about the mum. As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t have one. All right?” 

Louis ignored the way Harry’s eyes narrowed just a bit. He knew the question on his lips, but he also knew that Harry was too polite to ever ask someone ‘but how could you have had a kid when you’re bent like a nine-bob note?’ and he knew that he sure as fuck wasn’t in the mood for that talk. 

He turned to walk backwards the last couple of steps before he could reach back and grab the doorhandle for the trailer. “Ready to meet my fam?”

Harry nodded and smiled, albeit a little tightly. At least Louis wasn’t the only one who was nervous, then.

“Then come in.”


	6. Chapter 6

The first thing that met them as they stepped into the trailer was a widely snaggleteeth-smiling Niall standing in the kitchen with a toddler on either arm. He was in his dressiest outfit; a white button-down that had a permanent yellow stain on the chest pocket, which he was conveniently covering with Ernest, and a pair of black jeans that he’d rolled halfway up his calves to hide the fact that they’d been inches too short since he was eleven. He actually looked decent. 

“’Ello!” he exclaimed, “Harold, I presume?”

Louis rolled his eyes from behind Harry. “This is Niall,” he sighed, “and the two munchkins attached to him are Doris and Ernest.” 

“Hiiii,” Harry said to Niall, a little bit shy and a whole lot charming. “And hello, you two,” he added, shaking the hands of both toddler’s. Their little one’s hardly wrapped all the way around one of his fingers. “And its actually just Harry,” Harry said, straightening up to look at Niall again, “not short for anything. Well, I guess it’s short for Harry Styles, but, I mean…” 

“Hellooooooo,” Daisy interrupted, swooping up to Harry’s left, fast followed by Phoebe. They were in their nicest dresses; the matching blue ones that they’d snatched from the Lost and Found box at their school. They looked adorable, hair pulled back in French braids and little glittery pins holding their bangs in place. “You must be Harold.” 

“Oh, we’ve heard so much about you, Harold,” Phoebe added, shaking his hand over-eagerly. 

Harry chuckled a little, throwing Louis a teasing over-the-shoulder smile. “S’that so?” 

“Yes. Louis won’t shut up about you,” Phoebe replied. 

Daisy slapped her hands to her cheeks, exclaiming in a high-pitched voice, “ _oh Harry, oh Harry, please just come and fuck_ …”

“Oi!” Louis jumped in between the two, gripping their shoulders, tightly. “That’s enough of that. Haven’t you two got some homework you need to do?” 

“They finished the lot of it already,” Niall replied, “by the way, I think Fred’s needs his bottle, but I’ve sort of got my hands full.” 

Louis offered Harry an apologetic smile and went to pick his son out of his crib. As he got up again, inching his way over to the kitchen, he noticed Harry watching him from the other end of the room where Daisy and Phoebe were fighting for his attention. His eyes went from Louis’, then down to Freddie who was clawing at his collarbones and whimpering softly at his chest, then up to Louis’ again, smiling in a way that made Louis have to look away. Much too dangerous. 

“You weren’t lying when you said he was fit,” Niall said, a bit too loudly, sliding up to Louis’ side after dumping the toddlers off in the big bed, “he’s all dimples on dick, inny?” 

Louis barked a screechy laugh. “What the hell does that even _mean_?” 

“Dunno,” Niall’s eyes rolled over toward Harry, who was still trapped with the girls, then back on Louis again. “Those jeans could not have been tighter though, could they? Old John Thomas looks about two coughs from burstin’ out full-frontal, eh?” 

Louis shoved him. “Oh my god, you absolute pervert, shut _up_.” But no. No, those jeans could not have been tighter. 

They managed to make things relatively comfortable for Harry over the next hour – well, maybe not his jeans, but he and old John Thomas seemed to be coping. Louis fed Freddie while Daisy and Phoebe gave Harry a ‘tour’ of the trailer. Then they described their diabolical plan for revenge on a snooty cow in their class to him in horrifying detail and he only looked _sort of_ disturbed at the amount of morbid creativity two ten-year-old could possess. 

It wasn’t until he pulled out his laptop and let them take it up to their bed, that Harry was let out of their hold. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Louis told him as he came to sit down in the big bed, “they’re stealing all your internet access.” 

“‘ _Stealing all my internet access_ ’,” Harry chuckled, then stuck his big pointer finger out for Freddie to grab on, looking mesmerized with every move and every little spit bobble the baby made. Louis tried not to feel the same about Harry in that moment. “It’s fine. I pay by the month for limitless, it doesn’t make a difference how much ‘internet access they steal’.”

“Still,” Louis rearranged his pillows so he could lie back against them with Freddie rested on his chest and Harry followed, still captivated by the little one, “you don’t know if they suddenly decide to toss your laptop on the floor or download some stupid virus. They only ever get to use the computers at school or at the library, so…” 

“Louis,” Harry willed his gaze off Freddie to give Louis a firm look, “it’s all right. Relax.” 

“Does it seem like that’s a possibility around here?” 

Harry reached out and petted his cheek, and, well- it wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “Hey,” he said softly, “I think you’ve got the loveliest home.” 

“Shut up.” Louis coughed away whatever bit of flattered goo that just got itself stuck in his throat. “I live in a tin can.” 

“Tin can,” Harry echoed, tilting his head sideways down on a pillow with a boyish smile, “Louis Tinmanson. Tinmanson and his tinman son.” 

“Ti ma so!” Doris screamed from the end other end of the bed, where she, Ernest and Niall were happily reading through a children’s book about sheep in a jeep for the twenty millionth time. “Asi ti ma so!” 

Louis chuckled fondly. “You’ll have to excuse those to down there, they’ve only just learned the act of parroting,” he said to Harry.

“That why I’ve only been here an hour and I’ve already heard them say ‘ _fucki_ ’ about two hundred times?” Harry replied.

“Hey, I try to teach them proper language, but… but we’ve got a bunch of VERY FOULMOUTHED GIRLS AROUND HER!”

“Well, fuck you too, you foul-mouthed son of a cunt!” was the reply from one of the ten-year-old’s in the bed.

Harry just laughed. Louis was relieved. He didn’t know how he’d gotten into his head that Harry was the type to be offended by hearing ten-year-old’s using language even a grown man shouldn’t be, because of course he wasn’t; he was just the right amount of cutely taken aback, but he definitely wasn’t offended and that was enough for Louis to not regret taking him home. 

Harry didn’t seem to either.

He lied back in bed and took Freddie into his lap. He played with his tiny fingers and stroked his soft little head and let him pull at his long hair and rubbery cheeks while looking not a lot short of awestruck with the gurgling diaper-wearing blob. He tried to teach the toddlers to say his name and just laughed and drawled “hey, now” when Ernest burped him in the face and Doris called him “fucki stupi cow’. He chatted to Niall for ages about golf and music and at some point he’d also snuck an arm around Louis’ shoulders, the sly bastard. He fit right in here, Louis thought to himself, and so did his strong arm around Louis’ shoulders.

And then, just as things were getting comfortable, someone cried out, “the cookies!” 

“Oh shit!” 

“It smells like smoke!” 

“Is something burning?!” 

“Oh fuck me sideways up the arse with a flamin’ stick of frozen shite, ya pair a fuckin’ gobshite’s!” 

“Niall! Language!”

“Did you just call a pair of ten-year-old’s ‘ _gobshite’s_ ’?” 

“Oh, get the stick out ya arse and look at this, girls! You had one job! _One_ job!” 

The twins and Niall ran around the smoke-oozing kitchen, opening windows and cursing at each other and the trailer and the queen and then basically just every name in their vocabulary. Louis tried to keep the curious toddlers from jumping out of the bed and Harry was bopping Freddie up and down nervously, trying to fend off the onset of a violent crying-fit. 

That was exactly the moment that Fizzy decided to bust open the front door with a loud Cookie Monster/Gnarls Barkley-sounding “Daddy’s home, bitcheeeeees!”

She didn’t notice the chaos in the kitchen, she didn’t notice that she was dragging dirt in through the livingroom with her muddy sneakers, she didn’t notice that she almost planted her arse directly onto Ernest’s foot as she dropped onto the big bed and she most definitely did not notice Harry lying right behind her. She took off her backpack, turned it upside down and dumped five plastic-bags of weed down in front of her. “Niall,” she yelled, “Niii- _yaaaaall_!” 

When she didn’t get any immediate response she sucked in a deep, chest-heaving breath, opened her mouth as widely as she could, and Louis knew what lion-like roar was about to come, so he leaped forward, slapping a hand over her mouth just in time. “Fizzy! For god’s sake, _shush_ , Freddie is _right_ there!” Also, Harry was too, and maybe he didn’t fancy the idea of going deaf before age twenty.

She wrestled angrily out of Louis’ arms. “Get off,” she hissed, then turned toward the kitchen again, “Niall! I picked up your stuff!” 

Finally, Niall was done sorting the kitchen and came toward the bed, slapping black cookie-crumbles off his trousers. “Oh, great. How much was it? All of the money?” 

She made eyes. “Even _more_ than. Had to pay him all the money I won in recess poker and everythin’.” 

“What?” Niall exclaimed, “Why? How the fuck did that happen?” 

“Well, he put the price up again, didn’t he?” 

“ _Prick_!” He threw a hand through his hair. “I’m telling you, Fiz, if this fuckin’ arsehole does that one more time I’m going to have to find a new supplier and that’s…”

She stood up, shouldering past him. “Yeah yeah, you said that last time as well. Just pay me back for my poker money or heads will roll.” 

She made to go to the loft bed, and that was when Harry for some reason decided to call out, “hey, so you’re Fizzy? I’m Harry.” 

She turned, looking at Harry, then Louis, then Niall and then back at Harry again. “Wait, have you been here since I came, like?”

“Uhm, well… yeah.” 

“Oh. Right…” She shrugged a shoulder and waved at him. “Ace. Hey, Harry. You’re the guy Louis wants to fuck, eh?” 

Harry mouth dropped open around a grin.

“Fizzy!” Louis screamed, “go do your homework!” 

Louis turned to apologize to Harry for the umpteenth time that day, but before he could, Phoebe had dumped a tray of black cookies down in his lap. 

“These are for you, Harry,” she said, smiling as if someone had hooked their fingers through the crooks of her mouth and was pulling upwards as hard as they could. “They got a bit too much, but I think they’re fine on the inside.” 

Harry smiled politely. “Thank you. They look lovely. You shouldn’t have, guys.” 

Louis glanced at the black bits of rock on the tray. “No. No, you really shouldn’t.” 

They attempted at biting into one of the cookies, but gave up when they stopped being able to distinguish whether it was the cookies or their teeth that were crumbling. Freddie fell asleep in Harry’s arms and Louis laid him down in his crib. Niall ordered pizza and the toddlers dozed off at Harry and Louis’ feet after having their tiny shares. All the big girls retreated to the loft bed with Harry's lap top and Niall took his weed out on a few evening sells. 

And then it was just Harry and Louis. 

“So,” Louis said, rolling onto his side to look him in the eye, “have I managed to scare you off ever having kids?” 

“Nah,” Harry grinned, “just maybe not seven in one go.” 

“Smart thinking.”

“Maybe like, six and then the seventh a couple days later.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, or a couple hours if you’re feeling particularly buzzed off the first lot.” 

“Yeah. I’ll get a trailer and park it right here beside yours. I’ll get myself one of them Niall’s as well. They seem to come in handy.” 

Louis nodded. “Yeah, but remember to get the Irish version if you’re getting one; they curse more, but they’re also much less high maintenance and they don’t judge so much.” 

“Oh, right,” Harry’s smile was smirky and closed-lipped and wide as possible and they were lying on the same pillow now, face to face. They were so close that Louis could breathe him in, warm and boyish and familiar, but not so familiar that the closeness didn’t make his skin prickle just a bit. Harry’s hand was resting on him as well, big and protective, moving gently up and down his side. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “A Scottish Niall won’t do though, will it, then? Cause I’ve got a Scottish friend I could use.” 

“Oh god no,” Louis gasped, “they tend to get bitter and grumpy quickly and they wear those weird plaid skirts while free-balling.” 

“Oh, we don’t like that.” 

“No. No we do not,” Louis agreed. “Save the jingle bells for Christmas, amiright?” 

Harry moved his hand up to fix Louis’ fringe, then murmured in a lower voice, sort of distractedly, “yeah, yeah. You don’t want to see that. Unless we asked for it of course.”

“Well obviously.” 

Harry cackled lowly. He kept his hand rested on the side of Louis’ face, his thumb moving back and forth over his cheekbone. “Obviously,” he echoed belatedly, only a faint little hum. 

It was dark outside their windows now and it was quiet, or as quiet as could be, and Harry’s lips looked so soft and rosy. His fingers wrapped around the back of Louis’ head and Louis thought - he could _swear_ \- that Harry was pulling him in. Just a little bit closer, just a little bit more, just a little bit of what he’d been wanting so much, and just- 

“ _Fuck_ him!” The front door was slammed open and closed violently and then a backpack was hurled onto the floor. “I swear to everything that’s holy in this godforsaken country, I am _never_ taking that _arsehole_ back again! _Fuck_!” Lottie dumped down on a chair, tugging and yanking at her boots while whimpering and sniffling. 

Niall glanced over at Louis who was just as clueless to the situation as him, then jumped up, dropped to his knees and began helping her unlace the boots. 

Lottie gave another weak-voiced, exasperated “ _fuck_!” before burying her face in her hands. 

“You all right, Lots?” Niall asked warily from at her feet. 

“Let’s see; she’s slamming the door and sobbing into her hands. My guess would be - _uh_ - _uhm, uh_ \- _no_ , moron,” Fizzy mocked, walking up to slap him over the back of the head. 

Louis had rolled around to watch the situation from the bed, unsure of what to say or whether to say anything at all. Lottie had her fits, more often than not after she’d started dating that schmuck Chace Whatever-His-Face. It was hard to figure out when to console her and when to just keep away until she calmed down and forgave him for whatever wrong thing he’d said this time. 

This time she was capable of speaking and being spoken to. She pulled her snotty face out of her hands, sniffled and said, “I swear, I will never forgive him for this.” 

“What's it this time, then?” Fizzy groaned, leaning back against the table and crossing her arms over his chest. “He told you he didn’t like your hair straight?” She’d stopped feeling sorry for Lottie around the seventh time her and Chapstick broke up and got back together again. 

“It’s not what he told me,” Lottie sniffled, “it’s what he _didn’t_ tell me.” 

“What didn’t he tell you, Lots?” Niall asked, which was stupid, because it prompted her to start sobbing even harder while simultaneously trying to explain the entire story. 

Louis wasn’t entirely sure he got all the details right, what with all the snot and sniffles and hiccups and that, but he thought it went something like; Champagne-Bottle had said he couldn’t hang out last Saturday because he was ill. Today he was hanging out with Lottie and Lottie found out that he hadn’t been ill, he’d just preferred going to some concert with some other girl instead of the movies with Lottie. And, also, that other girl was a major disgusting whore-bag. 

Harry stayed silent for the entire time Lottie was speaking, and like Fizzy, she didn’t even notice his presence.

Louis did. Too much. After a few minutes of Lottie speaking, Harry had crept closer to Louis, spooning him and wrapping an arm around his stomach. It didn’t take long before Louis let himself give into it, relaxing back into his warm torso. 

At least he tried to relax, but even if he managed to get his body to do so, he couldn’t say the same for his mind. Like a tired old carrousel, the same lot of thoughts kept coming round and round, nagging at his brain, jabbing at his stomach. Harry’s lips, soft and rosy. Harry’s hand around the back of his head, pulling him closer, slowly, so slowly he almost could’ve gotten away with saying Louis was making it all up. 

Or… 

_Was_ he making things up? _Was_ it just wishful thinking? He’d hung out with Harry plenty of times and, apart from the bathroom-blowies ages before they were even friends, nothing had happened between them that couldn’t be called platonic. Well, maybe some cuddling and compliments that were a little gay for two mates, but still... pretty platonic. No hanky-panky, no touchy-touchy, no beneath-or-above-the-belt-action. Nothing. So maybe Louis was just making things up in his head because he couldn’t accept the reality of things. At this point, maybe Louis should be a grown man and learn to take a rejection like one. 

Harry dug his nose into the nape of his neck. Dick. 

“What are you doing?” Louis drawled, as if he didn’t already have goosebumps running down to his tailbone. 

“I think I’m going to take off, Lou.” 

Wait. “What? Now?” Louis rolled around to look Harry in the eye. “Why? Are you all right?” 

Harry’s gaze flicked over Louis’ shoulder to where Lottie was still sniffling and sobbing, and then back again. “Yeah I am. More than. I just think that your sister is not, and she’d probably not like for a stranger to be here right now.” 

“Oh no, it’s no problem, she cries like every week,” Louis blurted, which made Harry’s brows draw fast together. “Oh no, no, I mean, she cries about stupid stuff, not like, proper things that… It’s not… christ… right, let me walk you to your car, then?” 

Harry smiled. 

 

He said his quick goodbyes and then he and Louis stepped outside, walking in silence side by side. They’d almost made it all the way to Harry’s van when Louis slapped his arm and exclaimed, “your laptop!”

“What about it?” 

“The twins have still got it.” 

“Yeah I know,” Harry slouched back against the rear end of his van, “I told them they could keep it till I come and pick it up.” 

Louis shifted crossed his arms over his chest and shifted weight, cocking his mouth slightly to the side. “You didn’t have to…”

“Louis, it’s _fine_. Really. I don’t use it much outside of classes, I have internet my phone. And they were having so much fun with it, so…”

Louis tugged his hoodie sleeves over his freezing fists and nodded at the ground. “Well,” he said, “when do you think you think you’ll come and pick it up, then?” 

“Dunno. One of these days.” Harry poked Louis in the shoulder, making him tip backwards a little. “Isn’t that what you do? Leave something behind so you have an excuse to come back?” 

“I think that’s only for one-night-stands”, Louis quipped, “so far is I recall, we didn’t have sex.” 

Harry dropped his gaze and chewed on his tongue, chuckling a little, but it sounded awkward and forced. 

Louis felt like an idiot. A desperate, sex-depraved idiot. Of course they didn’t have sex. “Right, well. See ya, then,” he said quickly, then turned and began marching off. 

“Eh… all right?” Harry said from behind him, sounding a little disgruntled, “goodbye, then, I guess.” 

Louis pulled his hood up over his head and kept walking. It’d only get worse if he turned around now, so he didn’t. He kept walking, one foot in front of the other until he reached his trailer, not looking back, not even once. Then he stopped, pulled a pack of cigs out of his pocket, shook the last fag out, and lit it. He vaguely remembered saying something about quitting a few days ago, but a few days ago wasn’t now and right now, he needed this fix. He was ditching the Harry-thing, at least in the sexual sense. It was done. Dropped. He had misread the signs and now it was just a matter of not embarrassing himself any further. It’d been too long for it to make sense for him to still be waiting around for a guy who obviously wasn’t into it. He was much too pretty, anyway. 

“Oi! Louis!” 

The shout jolted Louis out of his mind so violently that he almost dropped his cigarette to the ground. “Eh,” he croaked, “what…” 

Harry was coming toward him now, half-running across the lot. It didn’t look like his van had even been moved from its spot. 

“What is it?” Louis managed, when Harry was close enough to hear it. 

“Forgot something,” Harry said, just a little bit out of breath. He’d stopped running now and Louis could make out all the lines in his face. He wasn’t smiling, not even a little bit. 

“What?” Louis stuck his cig back in his mouth to try and stop his heart from pounding so fast. 

Harry came closer, closer, and then his steps faltered right in front of Louis. He still wasn’t smiling. 

“What?” Louis breathed. Harry was so close now that Louis had to tilt his head back against the trailer to look him in the eye.

Still no smile. Only this awfully unnerving lack of expression that made Louis feel arrested in his spot. 

Without saying anything, Harry reached forward, taking the cigarette from his lips. He stretched his arm out to the side and dropped the cigarette to the ground without leaving Louis’ gaze, and Louis couldn’t find it in himself to protest to any of it. He wanted to look away, down, sideways, anywhere that Harry wasn’t staring at him so intensely, but he didn’t because he wanted to look at Harry more. 

“Harry…”

“Shut up,” Harry said, cutting him off. 

Then he grabbed Louis by the front of his hoodie, pushed him up against the trailer and fit their mouths together. 

It came so suddenly that Louis instinctively raised his hands to push Harry off, but Harry was faster than him, taking his wrists and pinning them to his own chest while he kept kissing him. 

And then Louis realised what was happening; he was kissing Harry. And it was _so_ good.

He let himself be pushed again, lifted onto his tiptoes by default, and let Harry tug and yank at his hoodie, and grab him around his jaw to cock his head back further and shove his tongue deeper into his mouth. Louis wrapped his arms around his waist, pulling his stomach close to his own, wanting to feel as much of him as he could. He kissed back, and he was rough about it, but Harry was rougher and Louis allowed him to be because it seemed to be out of desperation rather than a need to dominate. 

The amount of time they snogged could’ve been anything between thirty seconds and three hours, but by the time Harry pulled back for air, Louis only knew one thing for sure; he hadn’t had enough. 

“Okay?” Harry breathed, looking at him firmly. 

Louis nodded, confused and buzzing with hyperactive energy suddenly. “Okay,” he panted. 

Harry dragged his thumb over Louis’ sore-kissed mouth, then leant in and pecked him once more, quick, as if in conclusion. “Okay,” he said again, then took a step back, let go of Louis’ hoodie and smoothed out the crinkles his fists had made with a few lazy pats. 

But Louis didn’t want him to step back or to smooth out his crinkles, not yet. He’d just finally gotten to have all the things that came with those crinkles. They couldn’t already be smoothed out and gone. Harry was still watching him and Louis was still overwhelmed and so what he ended up saying was, “more.”

“More?” 

“Please.” Louis cocked his head back against the trailer, as if granting him access. 

Slowly, Harry moved closer again, but his mouth passed Louis’, moving to his ear. He pecked the top of his cheekbone once and whispered, “you taste like smoke.” 

Dick. 

Harry dropped a kiss to his shoulder. “If you come with my laptop tomorrow evening, I’ll make you dinner.” He moved back, but stopped on the way to give Louis one more kiss, wet and smacking loudly at separation, “and then I’ll give you a little bit more,” he added with a smirk.

He backed out of Louis’ space and Louis let out an exhale he’d been holding for longer than he’d realised. “Oh, get over yourself,” he snorted weakly. 

Harry, who was walking backwards in slow heavy steps, just smirked. Like he knew. Like he was so fucking certain he could have Louis right then, right there, right up against the trailer if he wanted. 

After a few seconds of grinning smugly, he turned around and began half-running toward his van again. 

“You owe me a smoke!” Louis yelled after him, noticing the dead butt in a puddle by his feet. 

Harry just spun around on his heel, blew him a kiss and then jumped in his van and drove off.

 _Dick_.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few song suggestions for this chapter to set the mood ;) 
> 
> 'Who's Gonna Save My Soul' - Gnarls Barkley
> 
> 'Red Wine' - Lukas Graham 
> 
> 'Maybe' - Janis Joplin
> 
> 'Meet Me In The Middle' - Jessie Ware

“How do I look?” 

Niall narrowed his eyes, looking Louis up and down. He didn’t say anything for several minutes.

Louis sighed impatiently. “ _What_?” 

“Hm… turn around for a sec.” 

Louis sighed again, turning in his spot. He didn’t really have time for all of this and also didn’t really know why he was taking Niall’s fashion advice, but well, for lack better option it’d have to make do.

Niall slapped his arse twice, up and down, then clapped his hands together and said, “you had a bit of dust on your arse. Those jeans have not been worn in a few years, have they?” 

Louis turned again, tugging on the hem of the bright red jeans he bought when he was fourteen and just wanted to get fucked by anything with a dick and a pulse. They fit a bit more snugly now, he supposed. “They don’t look too small, do they?” 

“Mate, I don’t think you need to worry about that. Harry does _not_ strike me as the type of guy who has a problem with tight trousers.” 

“No, I guess you’re right.” 

Louis took another quick look at himself in the mirror. He’d put on a tight white V-neck he knew Harry hadn’t seen him in before and he’d fixed his fringe into a casual quiffy thing with a smidgen of hair gel. He thought he looked all right. Fuckable, at the very least.

“Suppose it’s a good thing you won’t be eating though,” Niall muttered from behind him, “trousers considered.” 

“What do you mean, why wouldn’t I be eating? He’s cooking for me.” 

“Well, since you’re going to get dicked. Aren’t you supposed to not eat anything for like, ten hours before you get stuffed up the arse?” 

“Oh my god, shut _up_!” 

Louis left the trailer with Niall’s laugh still ringing in his ears.

 

*

**Sure you dont want me to pick u up?**

The message ticked in when Louis was already right around the corner from Harry’s building. It was no coincidence. He knew that Harry would send him that text and that was exactly why he’d left home half an hour earlier than he needed to. There would be no picking Louis up in that rusty old van. There would be no Niall opening the door for Harry and Louis coming down a curved stairway in a ball-gown with glitter in his hair. None of that. Just two men having dinner together. 

And fucking afterwards. 

The buzzer for Harry’s apartment didn’t work, it seemed, because Louis had been abusing it for three full minutes without luck when someone coincidentally came walking out of the building. Louis swooped in behind him, grabbing the door before it shut and jumped into the smelly stairway. He took the starts two steps at a time, hauling himself up by the railing. He felt in total control, buzzing to surprise Harry with his early arrival. That was, right until he reached a stand-still at Harry’s welcome mat and realised that his stomach was doing loops. 

This was pathetic. It was just Harry, for fucks sake. Louis had been here a million times before, and now, just because they’d shared a one freaking snog, he was being a little bitch.

He straightened up, exhaling to try and purge all his nervous energy, lifted his fist to knock the door, and then- then a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “No need to knock.” 

“What the fuck?” Louis turned to find Harry in a deep red button-down and matching red polka dot oven-mitts. His long hair was pushed into a deep side-part, one side tucked behind his ear, emphasizing his strong jaw and the other waving around his face, framing his cheekbone. He looked ridiculously handsome. 

“I was just in the kitchen checking up on the food. It’ll be ready in fifteen. Oh great,” he said and took the laptop Louis had brought for him out of his hands. Then he pushed his door open and walked in without asking Louis to follow. 

He didn’t have to. “Are those your own oven-mitts?” Louis asked, following him through the room. 

“Yeah.” Harry pulled one off, waving it around his face. “Cute, aren’t they?” 

“Yeah, I guess…” Louis gave the room a quick scan. That was when he noticed it; right there, on the floor-space that which telly and Xbox usually occupied, was now a big plaid picnic rug. Centred in the middle of the rug were three wooden food-treys pushed up against each other, on top of them a smoothed-out white flannel posing as a table-cloth. Plates, wine glasses and a carton of plonk stood ready, and to top it all off was a tiny little tea-light right in the middle of it all. “Did you…” Louis said, walking towards the rug, a little bit stunned, “do this?” 

“Yeah… Well, sorry, I don’t have any tea-light holders, but… I mean I still think it adds to the whole, you know, aroma of things.” 

Louis let out a little chuckle, turning around to look at the big dork hovering behind him. “’ _Aroma of things_ ’?” he echoed, grinning. 

“Oh, you know what I meeean, don’t mock me,” Harry pouted, but anyone with eyes could see that he absolutely loved it. The mockery. The tease. The getting to be stupid and dorky and to cute his way out of it. He probably thought Louis found him so irresistibly endearing. 

He thought right. 

“Sorry, love, I forget that you’re a sensitive soul,” Louis said and then couldn’t wait another second to reach up, link his arms around Harry’s neck, tilt onto his tiptoes and press a kiss to his pouty pink lips. They were practically begging for it.

“Mhm,” Harry hummed in happy surprise, and put his hands on Louis’ hips. He pulled back after a couple seconds, smiling a little dazedly, “you smell nice. What is that?” 

Louis gave a coquettish throw of the head, batting his lashes. “Oh you know, just my natural scent.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, in fact, the less I shower the better I smell. I can’t even help it, I was just born that way.” 

“Born ridiculous,” Harry deadpanned, then leant down for another quick kiss, “now quit grinding your hips against me and go sit while I fetch our dinner.” 

“I was not _grinding_ my hips against you!” Louis exclaimed, appalled at such ideas, “what kind of boy do you think I am?” 

Harry looked him over, as if considering, then replied lowly, “the kind of boy who’ll have to keep those hips steady until after dinner.” 

And that- well, right, then. 

 

Louis took a seat on a pillow in front of the ‘table’, sitting cross-legged in order to fit. Minutes later, Harry came back with their food. 

“Wow. Harry, this looks…”

“Thank you,” Harry pipped proudly, then began presenting the food as he served it onto their plates, “beef steaks with balsamic-roasted cherry tomatoes, and,” he said, “a side of cauliflower mash and garlic bread.” 

Louis’ mouth was salivating. The food looked every bit as delicious and expensive as it sounded. “How did you afford this?” Louis blurted. 

Harry quirked a brow at his plait as he took the seat/pillow across from Louis. “Hey now,” he said, “no money-talk over dinner.” 

Louis nodded, grinning. “Bossy.” He looked at the table again, “no, but seriously, this looks absolutely amazing, H.” 

“Taste it, then.” 

Louis cut a peace of steak with tomatoes and popped it in his mouth. “ _Mm_!” he exclaimed, nodding at Harry and giving a thumbs-up. 

“You like?” 

“I do. I am _so_ impressed, honestly.” In fact, he still couldn’t quite get over the fact that Harry had bought steaks for them. Steaks. He couldn’t remember when he’d last had that, if ever. Never this nice, anyway. “Hope you didn’t pay too much for this, Harry, really. How much were these steaks?” 

“Louis,” Harry looked at him sternly, “shut up and let me wine and dine you.” 

Well, all right, then. If he absolutely _had_ to. “Well,” Louis glanced at the carton of wine still standing untouched, “how ‘bout that wine, then?” 

They ate and drank and soon fell into normal conversation as if they were still just two mates. And yet it didn’t feel like before. Not at all. Louis never understood the purpose of sitting across from each other in a dimly lit room over a candle and sharing meaningless conversation when both parties knew that all they were doing were fuelling their engines for all the sex they were about to be having. But tonight he thought he got it. It was the prelude. It was the anticipation, building up with every little smirk, every sly double entendre, every stolen glance at where Harry’s shirt-sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, stretching around his strong forearms. 

Harry spilled a drop of wine down his chin and Louis grabbed the chance to reach across the table and get it for him, getting up on all fours as he did so. “There we go,” he said softly, watching how Harry’s eyes rolled down his chest where thin white fabric met smooth tan skin, over his lightly arched back and down where his tight red jeans stretched over his arse and thighs. “Don’t forget to blink,” Louis said as he swept his thumb over Harry’s chin one last time and then moved back in his seat. 

Louis didn’t miss the way Harry cleared his throat down at the table, tightening the grip around his cutlery. 

Later, once they’d finished eating and drinking, Louis steadied himself back on his hands, laying his legs sideways like in a mermaid-esque pose and said, “all done. What now?” 

Harry didn’t even try to be subtle, as his eyes went directly to the place where Louis’ t-shirt had crept up over his hips. He looked teasingly flirtatious, but he also looked something else behind it. Hungry. Licking those plump red lips as if he could jump across the table right now and just pounce. 

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat almost comically loudly, “for starters, I’ll just take these out.” 

He gathered the dishes and Louis watched him, every twitch of the muscles in his arms, every nerve moving at his collarbones. “Don’t be gone too long. I’ll fall asleep,” he said. 

Harry gave a low laugh, but his voice was firm as he passed Louis with the dishes, touching his finger to the bare skin above the back of his t-shirt and dragging all the way from one shoulder to the other, lifting every hair on the nape of his neck, and said, “no you won’t.” 

 

When he came back, Louis could swear he’d popped another button on his shirt. 

Louis slipped his socks off and moved onto Harry’s bed, lying back against his pillows with his arms behind his head. “Ahh,” he said, “after dinner. It is _after_ dinner now. What a lovely time, innit? After dinner…” 

Harry nodded, walking toward him in slow, heavy steps. “It is, isn’t it,” he grinned. The mattress dipped when he came to sit across from Louis. “Whatever are we going to do now, friend?” he asked lowly. Louis was sure he meant to be light and jokey, but it came out so lowly, with his eyes glued to Louis’ body, that there was nothing light about it. Hungry boy. Starving, really. 

“Oh I really couldn’t tell you,” Louis said, lifting his bare foot to Harry’s thigh, “ _mate_ ,” and slid it upwards.

Harry grabbed it right at his inner thigh, lifting it up in his big hand. “ _Bro_ ,” he hummed, the soft slide of his lips against the sensitive side of Louis’ foot almost unbearable. 

“ _Chap_ ,” Louis murmured. 

Harry smiled at him, looking up through his lashes. He wrapped his hand around Louis’ ankle and then, unexpectedly, yanked it. Louis gasped, slipping down the mattress and onto his back and before he knew it, Harry was over him, hovering above his face. “ _Boy_ ,” he said lowly.

Louis ignored his own hammering heart and heaving chest and moved a hand right down to Harry’s crotch, feeling at how hard he already was. He tutted up at Harry, replying, “ _naughty_ boy.” 

Harry cackled, then moaned when Louis squeezed his bulge and tried humping downwards into his hand. He dug down into the crook of Louis’ neck, bit at his skin and groaned, “spread your legs.” 

“You think it’s that easy?” Louis teased. 

Harry didn’t respond, just grabbed him by the knees and yanked them apart. His hips and crotch fell against Louis’ and Louis groaned at the friction. He grabbed a hold of Harry’s arse through his jeans, pulling his bulge closer, steering and forcing the grind of his hips. Harry was already panting hotly against his neck and his weight was heated and heavy on Louis, and he wanted it. All of it and more. 

“Kiss me,” he panted, and Harry complied immediately, tonguing into Louis’ mouth as soon as he found his lips. 

Louis forced his hands down between them, fiddling frantically with Harry’s belt buckle and doing his best to snog him back simultaneously. 

“Louis,” Harry choked out suddenly, “Louis, what’s…” 

It wasn’t quite enough to stop Louis, he was so into it already that he kept fighting with Harry’s buckle and when Harry stopped snogging him he lifted his head up to nip at his jaw, his neck and his collarbones. 

But Harry was distracted now. “Louis,” he said, louder, “wait, hold on.” 

Louis sighed loudly, couldn’t hide his irritation, didn’t even want to. He deflated back on the mattress to look up at Harry. “ _What_?” 

That was when he heard it; his own ringtone. 

Harry nodded toward Louis’ phone, which was lying face-up beside the mattress. “Niall's calling you. Isn’t he baby-sitting for you tonight?” 

“Yeah.” Louis tried to push away the wave of anger and disappointment rushing over him, gently pushing Harry off of him to roll onto his side and look at the display. “Yeah. It could be about the kids. Sorry, I’ve… I’ve got to take it.” 

“’Course,” Harry said softly, but Louis knew it annoyed him too. Maybe not too much, but it would in time. This was only the first of it. If Harry actually stuck around then he’d have to accept that there were seven other people in Louis’ life who always came first. Of course, that wouldn’t happen because no sane nineteen-year-old would ever want to stay for that. Louis had just hoped they could have had tonight. 

“Hello?” he said, taking the call, “who died?” 

“No one, but Lottie was assaulted, and, fuck man, she’s in hysterics, I don’t know what to do.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song suggestion: 
> 
> In the Ghetto - Elvis Presley

Harry swooped the van in crookedly four feet from the trailer and Louis was out of the passenger seat before they were even at a standstill. He ran to the door, flung it open and jumped inside the trailer. 

Niall, who was sitting at the table alone, immediately shushed him. “She’s sleeping,” he whispered, then pointed to Freddie, “and so is he. I finally just got him down.” 

Louis’ pulse was still going at a hundred miles per hour. “What happened? You said she was assaulted!” 

“She was,” Niall patted the chair beside him, “come sit down.” 

“But she’s all right?” Louis hissed. “She’s not hurt?” 

“No, she’s all right. He didn’t hurt her physically, I think he just jumped her and took her money.” 

Louis nodded, driving a hand through his hair. He could breathe again. “Could’ve told me that over the phone, man.” 

“I tried, but you hung up on me before I got to.” 

Louis didn’t reply, instead moving over to the latter for the loft bed and crawling up to check on the girls. They were all sleeping soundly, cuddled up in their duvets. Not a scratch on their heads. He could breathe. 

Once he came down again, Harry was sitting across from Niall. He offered a comforting smile when Louis joined them, still feeling quite on edge. 

“I’m sorry you guys had to cut your night short,” Niall said, looking more grave-faced than ever, “she was in absolute hysterics when I called you, and the little ones were as well. She wouldn’t let me check if she had bruises or anythin’. Eventually, I think they just tired themselves out though and Lottie could explain what’d happened.” He pushed a half-drunk six pack over the table. “Beer?” 

Both Harry and Louis nodded. Louis chugged half in one go, wanting to calm his nerves the last bit. If there was one thing that could ever truly terrify him, it was the thought of his family getting hurt. This was exactly why he couldn’t leave them alone to be selfish. If they ever got hurt while he was off shagging around, he’d… no. He couldn’t think of it.

They sat for a few moments, sipping and staring into thin air. 

“But, the thing is,” Niall then said, warily, “she was carrying the shoe-money when the guy mugged her.” 

Louis put his beer down, staring at him for a few seconds to comprehend his words. He hadn’t even gotten to the part about losing money before now. “Right,” he said, tapping the cold lit of his beer can, “right. Shit.” 

“Yeah. And obviously she had to give him everything she had on her, you know, to protect herself.” 

“’Course.” 

“So… we’ve lost it, Louis.” Niall watched him, his eyes begging for some sort of reaction. “All of the money for shoes.” 

Slowly, it seeped into his brain. Into his veins and down to his stomach, making it drop. “Fuck,” Louis blurted, “fuck fuck, shit, _fuck_.” 

“I know.” 

_All_ of the shoe-money. _All of it_. Every last penny. Lottie’s sneakers were falling apart at the soles, Fizzie’s had a big hole at the toe, Daisy and Phoebe were still wearing ballerina’s in September. They couldn’t afford this. They just couldn’t. 

Suddenly, Louis couldn’t sit down anymore. He leaped out of his seat, marching to the door, grabbing the handle to leave, but then he stopped last second. Running away now wasn’t going to help anything. He pressed his forehead against the door instead, and knocked his palm against it in frustration, three or four or maybe ten times. He wasn’t sure when he’d tired himself out, or when Harry had crowded up behind him, wrapping an arm around his stomach. 

They stood there for several minutes, just pressed against the door. Louis took Harry’s fingers between his teeth and bit on them and Harry let him. 

At some point, Harry muttered against the nape of his neck, “she’s not hurt. She lost your money and its shit, but she’s not hurt. And she’s got you. They all have. So they’re going to be all right.” 

“It’s _shit_ , Harry.” He felt so fucking helpless. He didn’t want _wealth_ , he didn’t want _stuff_ , he just wanted to be able to give the kids a pair of comfortable winter-shoes. But he couldn’t, because the world was motivated by the one thing he’d been born into not having any of. “It’s fucking _shit_.” 

He thought he felt Harry nodding against him, but he didn’t say anything more. Just pulled Louis closer and pecked his shoulder. Pressed his thumb between Louis’ teeth and held his jaw in a grip so tight it was almost trapping. And in some way that was exactly what he needed right then. To be held and trapped and squeezed so hard he forgot about the shit around him for a second, forgot about the coiling bitterness in his gut that came with giving your all to these kids and still not being enough. Because of circumstance. Because of something he didn’t have the means to change and worst of all; because he’d been selfish tonight and if he’d been home and there to remind Lottie not walk home from her boyfriend’s too late this wouldn’t have happened. 

At some point, Harry slipped off of him and Louis turned around. Niall was in bed now, staring up at the ceiling. He had the two toddlers on either arm, slouched peacefully across his chest. 

“Take the bed, guys,” he said to Louis and Harry. “You should be allowed to spend the rest of your evening alone together.” 

Harry looked to Louis for an answer, and as much as Louis never wanted to be selfish again, he also couldn’t say no to the look in Harry’s eyes. He nodded. “If you want to.”

“I want to,” Harry replied quickly. “If you want me to.” 

“I do,” Louis said, his lips quirking upwards a little, his smile sardonic, “I do want you to.” 

“Guys, could you go to bed and pull the curtain on all the flirting? I’m trying to get a few hours of sleep here,” Niall said from his mattress.

Louis gave a little chuckle. “Right. Sorry.”

He and Harry crawled into bed, pulled the curtain for privacy and began undressing themselves. They sat on either end, slowly pulling off their jeans without looking at each other or speaking. They kept pants and shirts on and crawled under the cool covers. 

It wasn’t until they were lying there, side by side, staring at the dark ceiling that Louis broke the silence. “I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into all of this chaotic shit.” 

“I’m sorry you think that’s how I see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to note that i have been dreading posting anything online for about a year, because i was afraid of... well i don't exactly know what i was afraid of. It's just sort of... vulnerable to show something like your writing, it's very personal and something i'm extremely sensitive about for some reason. 
> 
> But it's the best decision i've ever made. it's really helped me keep motivated to keep writing and it means the world to me to think if just one person has sat there, reading it and enjoyed it or thought 'hey that's exactly the kind of fic i was wanting to read'. Anyway, just wanted to note that in case any other people out there read it and were afraid to share their work to the world. Do it!:)


	9. Chapter 9

A woman in a bright red coat and giant scarf was walking a Chihuahua on a rhinestone-leash outside the window. The dog was wearing a tiny little coat, matching hers. It was barking eagerly at a Golden Retriever, whose owner was fighting to keep an iPhone 7 crammed between his ear and shoulder as he tugged on the leash of his dog and tried not to spill Starbucks coffee on his screaming white Jordan’s. 

“Oi. Are you deaf or something?” Louis blinked, snapping himself out of his daze. A man in a long black trench coat, wearing sunglasses _inside_ in _September_ , was snapping his fingers impatiently at Louis’ face. “I asked for an espresso - extra strong, and a cinnamon roll.” 

“Right. Sorry sir.” Louis nodded, turning to get the man his order, but feeling like it’d slipped in one ear and seeped out the other.

Zayn shot him a pitying look from the other end of the bar as the man behind him kept sighing intentionally loud to signal his impatience. Louis wanted to explain to him that no matter how fast he worked, he couldn’t fucking speed up the process of the fucking espresso-machine, but he didn’t. He wanted to explain that he couldn’t fucking control the fact that Zayn had just sold the last fucking cinnamon roll to the fucking costumer before him, but he didn’t. 

He gave the man his coffee and a smile that made his skin feel like plastic cracking at the spread of it. “Anything else?” 

“No thanks. Don’t think I can trust you with it.” 

Louis ignored the jab. He was better than someone taking out their own stress on him. He was better than losing his job over someone like this guy. He smiled again and even offered a cheery “have a nice day, sir”. 

And then, “just a little tip, young man,” the man leant over the desk as if he were about to share a deep cherished secret with Louis, “don’t be window-gazing when you’re on the till. I know you’re probably just waiting to get home and smoke weed and play videogames, but you know, just… when you’re on the job, for just a few sodding hours; try to be a little bit adult about it.” He gave a patronizing head-nod and a smile so far off kindness it was borderline vicious. “Yeah?” 

Louis’ jaw clenched up tight. He stared at the dick in front of him, was pretty sure he looked like a maniac with his smile still taped across the bottom-half of his face, but didn’t give a shit. His insides were sizzling. _Sizzling_. His hands were clenched so hard around the edge of the counter that his muscles tensed all the way up through his forearms. 

He opened his mouth to shout or scream or to use his sharp tongue to destroy this man through to his very core, but then, right in that second, he felt a hand slapped onto his back. “Lou, you’ve got another costumer,” Zayn said hurriedly, nodding to the woman standing behind the pretentious wanker. “You gonna take her or shall I?” 

“I will,” Louis replied, and the douche-face had walked off in the meantime, which was a very smart choice.

The little old lady behind him came to the desk, making eyes, “what a fucking arsehole, eh?” 

Louis breathed a chuckle out through his nose. “Yeah.” 

“Well, don’t worry about him,” she smiled, scrunching her little nose, “you can let people get to you or you can let them go fuck themselves. Your own choice.”

“Yeah…” Louis said, smiling back at her, “so, what can I get you, love?” 

-

“So, how’s it going with your new man?” Zayn asked as they were closing up later that evening. 

Louis glanced up from the cash-till where he was trying to collect his thoughts enough to count up the money. The thing with Harry was, essentially, that it seemed to be going well, and then, suddenly, it seemed to be going nowhere. Harry had left in a hurry the morning after he’d slept over at Louis’, with a quick pally hand-shake. Louis had texted him a day later, just a funny little remark. So far he hadn’t gotten a reply. That was a week ago. 

So. “It’s going… well, it’s… honestly, I don’t really know.” 

Zayn nodded from where he was stacking chairs on tables to sweep underneath. “Right… not great in the sack, is he?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” Louis said, staring down at all the coins he still hadn’t counted. 

“Wow. You still haven’t fucked?” Zayn took Louis’ lack of an answer for a yes, and then asked, “d’you think he’s impotent or summat, like?” 

That made Louis’ head snap up, his hand dropping all the coins, he’d just managed to count, down into the till again. “What?” 

“I’m just saying… A guy who’s holding out that long on sex when you’re literally jaw-on-the-floor panting-like-a-dog gaggin’ for it, like…” Zayn shrugged a shoulder, “bloke’s got to be hidin’ something.”

Louis flung a receipt paper-roll across the room, but Zayn ducked before it hit him. “I am not _gaggin’ for it_!” 

“Right. Right, so then, who’s drool was it that I had to sweep off the counter after he’d been by the shop the other week?” 

“You’re an arsehole.” 

Zayn passed him, giving him a light poke in the flank on the way. “And you can’t stop checkin’ your phone every five minutes.” 

Arsehole. 

 

*

Five minutes later, on his long walk home, Louis pulled out his phone. 

One message from Niall: **‘Lotties sleepin at friends. All good here.’**

And another: **‘Bring home thrown out bread if u can.’**

And one more: **‘Fizzy and I made spaghetti meatballs, u want us 2 save sum 4 u ?’**

Aaaaaand: **‘2 late we ate it all tough luck.’**

But nothing from anyone else. Nada. Louis scrolled up and down his phone, as if doing it faster would somehow change the outcome, but it was all the same. Not a sign of life. 

He slipped the phone back in his pocket with a sigh, fastening his walking-pace.

He wasn’t in love. Didn’t get why everyone around him had decided they could read his mind and that he was, because they couldn’t. Because if they had a proper look inside his head, they’d find that he most definitely was _not_ in love. What he was, was annoyed. It was just rude, wasn’t it? Not responding like that. Just disappearing off the face of the earth, as if their flirt - as if their _friendship_ , wasn’t even worth a tiny little text-message. It was just plain rude, that was all. 

Louis checked his phone again, just one last time for good measure before he made it home. Zilch. 

Well. He could let it get to him or he could let Harry go fuck himself. His choice… Wasn’t it?

 

*

Rude Harry hadn’t texted the next day either. Niall was out all day; something about getting a new weed-supplier and improving his costumer-circle. Lottie was over at Chainsaw’s place, even though she said she was at ‘Sophie’s to do homework’. She was almost sixteen now and Louis didn’t think it was his place to stop her from being with Chalkboard if that was what she wanted. Just because he wasn’t getting laid didn’t mean he had to take it out on everyone who were. 

Instead, Louis took the rest of the kids to the park. A free family-bonding trip of sorts. Well, mostly, he just needed to get out of that little trailer. To get out of his head. To leave his phone back there so he didn’t have to compulsively check it every five minutes. 

At the park, they had fun. For all of ten minutes.

Doris stumbled off while Louis looked the other way for three seconds, and then they were running around the park, searching for her for over two hours. They finally found her at some kid’s party, sitting on a table, hand’s deep in little Jimmy’s birthday cake. Louis had to apologize on her behalf and promise the prick of a dad to pay for the ‘designer cake’ she’d wrecked. He gave the dad a fake name and number, then hurried off with the kids. 

Once he made it back to the meeting spot, Fizzy, Daisy and Phoebe were all gone. That spiralled into another hour’s search with a screaming Freddie strapped to his chest, Ernest on his shoulders, pulling at his hair and covering his eyes every five seconds, and Doris constantly stumbling off in the wrong direction. 

In the end, they found Phoebe and Daisy chatting up a pair of twin boys by the ‘kissing rock’. 

Once Louis finally saw Fizzy coming toward them as well, he thought it was over. That was until he noticed the police man behind her. Apparently, she’d stolen someone’s dog because ‘it was cute’ and then just let it run loose when she got bored of it. Luckily, the dog had found its owner again, but Fizzy was still fined for money they couldn’t afford to pay. Louis gave the police officer a fake name and number and then they all ran off home. 

“So,” he panted, as they all made it inside their trailer, “let’s all decide to never go to the park again.” 

At least he hadn’t had time to check his phone all day.

 

In the evening, though, when he was lying with two sleeping toddlers at his feet, staring into the ceiling with nothing but the light creaks of the trailer from every wind-gust, Louis couldn’t help his thoughts. Going exactly where he didn’t want them to. Going where they always went lately. 

And then his phone buzzed. 

His heart jumped from the feel of it and it felt almost surreal that it was actually possible for it to happen. For Harry to text him back now. Louis had the phone in his hand in less than a second, unlocked and opening the message. 

**‘lol’**. 

And that- that was the moment Louis realised he had to be going insane. Reading that tiny little idiotic text-message, that meaningless little acronym, and feeling, well - like it meant more than anything had all week. Fuck.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song suggestions 
> 
> Pray (Empty Gun) - Bishop Briggs

A few texts flew back and forth over the next couple of days. It was fun, easy, jokey and – pointless. Every time Louis suggested actually seeing each other in real life – ‘ **lets watch the game together** ’ – ‘ **im workin. Pop by the shop and ill slip u a free donut** ’ – it was replied to with things like ‘ **nah, im knackered** ’, ‘ **thats stealin Loueh o.O** ’ and goddamn fucking ‘ **lol** ’. As much as that three-letter conversation-ender had been appreciated when they were going through a textual dry-spell, it wasn’t anymore. Now it was just getting on Louis’ nerves. He needed some hugs. Kisses. To hear the sound of Harry _actually_ laughing out loud. 

“Okay, so I’m thinkin’ I’ll just be straight-forward with him. You know, we’re grown men, I don’t need to beat around the bush. I’ll just tell it like it is. That he’s got to step up and tell me if he isn’t interested in seeing me,” Louis said to Fizzie a Wednesday afternoon when they were sitting around the table, playing a lazy game of fish. “Ace of hearts?” 

“Isn’t that a little desperate, though,” Fizzie muttered, “and go fish.” 

Niall, who was on the side line, trying to teach the toddlers how to stack a card-house more than one storey tall, chimed in with a very useful, “yeah you’ll seem like a fuckin’ thirsty no-lifer.” 

Louis gave an offended snort. “I’m like, the least no-lifer-ish twenty-one-year-old ever. I’ve got seven kids, for cryin’ out loud.” 

“Living vicariously through your younger siblings is not having a life,” Fizzie said. “Four of hearts?” 

“Go fish. And where do you get off using the word ‘vicariously’?” Louis asked, “you live in a bloody trailer and you’re, what, like, eleven?” 

“Twelve and a quarter, thank you very much.” 

“Oh dear, so sorry to offend you. Ten of clovers?” 

“You better get yourself a hook and a tin of worms, because guess what, brotha? You gone go fishin’.” 

Niall laughed much too loud and too long at that. 

“Anyway,” Louis said when things had calmed down again, “I’m not going to go all Fatal Attraction on him. I’m just gonna be like, ‘hey, you wanna fuck or nah’?” 

“Ew,” was Fizzie’s bright response. “Two of hearts?”

Louis sighed, handing over the card. “I don’t think just implying that I’m up to take things further if he is constitutes as ‘too much’. Does it? Queen of spades?” 

Fizzie shrugged a shoulder. “What do I know about love, I’m only eleven.” 

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Niall said, patting her shoulder, “you’re twelve and a quarter, thank you very much.”

Louis was too caught up in his own internal dilemma’s to even give a little snicker. “Queen of spades?” he repeated, and then, “and you can still weigh in on it despite your age, Fiz. Just giving him a little jab, a little help in the right direction, that’s all I plan to do. Don’t you think he’ll respect that?” 

Fizzie stared at him for a moment, this empty almost tired-out look in her eyes. “You know what he’ll respect?” she then asked, “if you pop down and get yourself a pair of high wellies, a boat and a silent old rowing-partner, because you know what? You know what? You’s be fishin, brotha!” With that, she slammed her cards down in the table and jumped out of her chair. “And that’s all I have to say about that.” 

Louis was left with a red-faced laughing Niall and two toddlers on his legs that looked like they were in the middle of an earthquake. 

 

*

Another few days went by and Louis was busy as always; taking Freddie to a routine doctor’s visit, stitching up Fizzie’s jacket after she got in a footie-related schoolyard fight, burning thirty muffins for Daisy and Phoebe’s cake-day at school and then just giving them money to buy them at the corner store, and also, taking a last-minute extra closing shift at Frank’s on a Thursday afternoon. 

“Mate, you’ve got no idea how ‘appy I am that you’re fillin’ in for Chester. Not bein mean’, but that guy is such a bloody bore, like. All he talks about are fuckin’… fuckin’ alimony’s and shit.” 

Louis chuckled at Zayn. “Sounds painful.”

“Excrutiatin’, man,” Zayn groaned. “Anyway, you’ve got to hear this, mate. So I was on the piss the other day, right? So Ali and Ty are all like ‘I bet you can’t fit this entire pint glass in your mouth, like. And I was like, ‘ _you what, mate_?’, and so the crazy bell end sticks me a massive pint and I’m all like pissin’ my pants cause I’m gonna crack my jaw, like, but I…” 

Zayn continued talking, but Louis zoned out. He usually loved to hear Zayn’s crazy drunken tales, possibly due to the fact that he hardly had any of his own, but right then his attention had been stolen. Stolen by a long-haired thief. Harry Styles. Through the window right by the entrance of the shop, Louis saw him walking by, chatting to… Niall. Chatting to _Niall_. They were just strolling along, mouths going at rapid speed. They were hanging out. And they hadn’t told Louis. _Niall_ hadn’t told Louis.

The first thing he felt was confusion. Then a little sting of hurt. And then just anger. What the actual fuck? 

He couldn’t run out to ask what the hell was going on because suddenly there were three costumers waiting in line, and once he was done serving them, Harry and Niall were gone.

For the entire rest of the shift, Louis felt anxious, impatient. Like an Olympic contestant stuck in the starting-position for a hundred meter run. 

He was quick about closing up shop, shouted goodbye to Zayn over his shoulder and then hurried home. If Niall wasn’t home, then Louis was going to sit up waiting for him until he was. He didn’t give a fuck. He needed an explanation and it better be good. 

Niall was home. He and Lottie were sitting at the table, chatting in lowered voices so as not to wake the kids. 

“Hiyaa,” Lottie said when Louis stepped inside. “All right day?”

“Fine.” 

“Hey, man. I bought milk and toilet paper, so if you’re lackin’ dairy or wanna have a pony, by all means, go ahead,” Niall said.

Louis pasted on a smile, sliding his jacket around the back of a chair and slowly sitting down across from him. “That’s great.” 

A moment of silence passed. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Niall blurted.

Louis tilted his head sideways in a jerky move, widening his fake smile. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean, why the fuck are you smiling at me like you wanna collect all my cut-off toenails and save them in a jewellery box or some shit, that’s what I mean.” 

“Nice one,” Lottie laughed, slapping him on the arm. “Anyway, I’m going to bed.” She got up, then stopped for a second, frowning at Louis. “Bro, sort out your face, you’re giving me the creeps.” 

She left, and Louis was still staring at Niall, who was beginning to look like he might melt out of his seat with how uncomfortable he was. He deserved it.

“So,” Louis stretched his arms forward, cracking his knuckles in Niall’s red face, “anything exciting happen today?” 

“Well, you know… the usual. Went on a few sells, grocery shopping, hung around here.” 

“Right.” Louis cocked his head back. “Right. Didn’t hang out with anyone?” 

Niall’s brows draw together slightly. He regarded Louis for a moment, eyes narrowing slowly, then looked down at the table again, scratching at his neck. “No. No, I mean, I saw Tommy in Tesco. You remember Tesco-Tommy, right? Crazy fuckin’ sod, in’he?” 

“Yeah,” Louis said coldly, his cold gaze unyielding. “Good old Tesco-Tosser-Tommy. What. A. Guy.”

Niall looked up at him again, searching. His mouth dropped open as if he was about to ask something, maybe ask what the hell was going on, but no sound came out. Eventually it closed again and he dropped his gaze, nodding at nothing and scratching at a little stain on the table. 

That was when Louis dropped both his arms down on the table, fitting his hands together and asked, “why the fuck haven’t you told me you’ve been hanging out with Harry?” 

Niall’s head snapped up. “ _What_?” 

“I asked; why the fuck haven’t you told me you’ve been hanging out with Harry?” 

First, Niall frowned like he didn’t understand the question. Then, when he realised he was caught, he looked away; down at the table, over toward the bed, everywhere but at Louis. “Look, mate, it’s not…”

“What isn’t it? Because either way, you’ve just been sat here, in my home where you live, lying me in me open face.” Niall looked up then and Louis looked right back at him, cold and hard as he could be when he’d been crossed, “and regardless of anything, that’s just bloody rude, innit.” 

A long sigh fell from Niall’s lips, like he was deflating in his seat, like he was giving up. Or giving in. “Lou, just hear me out. I’ve only seen him today, but I’ve been talking to him for a bit. The thing is, the reason I’ve been lying about it was that I knew you’d get mad if you found out.” 

Louis leant back in his seat, throwing both hands up lazily. “And yet, here you are, having managed to do it anyway.” 

“Yeah. Yeah.” Niall tapped the table three times, then looked up and leaned in. “All right. Well, you know how I sell weed for a living?” 

“Yes. Yes I think I know that.” 

“Right. But you know how my supplier is just a huge fuckin’ stingy dick?” 

“It’s been mentioned. Go on.” 

“Right. And you know how we lost all the shoe-money and you’ve been working your arse off, takin’ extra shifts and shit to try and compensate?” 

“Obviously. Where are you going with this, because so far it’s not exactly making me less upset.” 

Niall sighed again, then leant in closer, fitting his fingers together. “So Harry called me the day after he’d slept over.” 

“What?!” 

“Shut up and listen for a second. He called me because he was going to ask whether he could give me some money to give to you. To pay for the shoes and that.” 

“What, like I’m some sort of charity case?! What’s he think I am, a freakin’ prostitute or summat?” 

Niall snapped his fingers at him. “Exactly. That’s exactly how I told him you’d react if anyone tried to just give you money. So instead, Harry came up with another idea. And please, _please_ don’t freak out when I tell you this.” 

“I’m not making any promises.” 

“We are going to sell coke.” 

“What?” 

Niall looked at him sternly. “We are going to sell coke. At first, Harry just introduced me to a new and much better supplier that he knew from when he was sellin’. He still sells every now and again, just weed. But we found out that coke gets you minted, like. Or at least, it’s better money. Of course, it’s a bit harder to sell off in the beginning, but it’s going to earn us enough profit to pay for new shoes for everyone, even you, Lou.” 

For once in his life, Louis didn’t know what to say. A moment passed where Niall just stared at him, waiting for a response. 

When it didn’t come, he continued, “right, and so we’ve already sold some, but that didn’t earn us much ‘cause it was just sort of a trial-run. You know, for the supplier to see if we’d sold fast enough and whatnot. And now that he has, he’s agreed to hook us up with the guy who supplies him with coke, meaning the big boss, if you will. Like, the king of coke in town or whatever. And _that_ guy,” Niall raised his brows, his eyes looking rounder than ever, “ _that_ guy will get us the bucks.” He tapped his nails at the table, cleared his throat and then coughed awkwardly. When Louis still hadn’t spoken, he looked at him pleadingly and asked, “you all right, Lou?” 

 

*

 

He glanced at his phone. 21.59. Last minute. 

Sheltered inside the gate of a building, Louis could see without being seen. It was pitch-black out and pissing rain, so he had to squint to be able to make out the face and shape of every by-passer and his toes were numb in his thin sneakers, but he wasn’t deterred. He was going to stand here for however long he had to. 

Another glance at the time. 22.00. 

And then, right on cue, there he was. Walking with his head bowed, hoodie pulled over it, and hands in his jean pockets, he could almost hide his identity. But he’d forgotten one thing; Louis would know that lanky waggle anywhere. 

“Oi!” he shouted soon as Harry was within earshot. The sound almost got lost in the thundering rain. Almost. 

Harry looked up, right into Louis’ eyes and froze. For a second, it looked like he was contemplating making a run for it. Then he started fidgeting. Stammering. “Ehm, eh… God, hi, funny to, funny to run into… so, like, what are you doing here?” 

Louis walked up to him, each step slow, each one heavy. He didn’t speak until he was standing right in front of Harry, looking up at him, but feeling taller with how anxious Harry seemed. “You’re on your way to pick up three-hundred grams of cocaine.” 

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “I… no, I’m... I’m on my way home from, eh, a friend’s.” 

Louis nodded, understanding. Then dropped the act. “You’re lying, Harry.” 

“Lou-”

“To my open face, you’re lying. Niall told me everything.” 

That did it. Like Niall before him, Harry sighed. Deflated. Gave in. “All right. Yeah I am. And I’m late, actually.” 

“Right.” Louis softened his gaze, because he wasn’t really mad so long as he as he wasn’t being lied to. “But just… please tell me you’re not putting yourself in any sort of danger for my sake?” Harry bit his lip before he could school his features. It was only a millisecond, but it was enough for Louis to know that Harry didn’t really know what he was getting himself into. “Right,” he said, “we’re going home, Harry.” 

“No, I can’t, I’ve got to pick up the drugs, for fuck’s sake.” It came out more pleading than anything. 

“No,” Louis said, voice firm and soft at the same time, “you have not _got_ to do anything. Not for me, not for whoever’s supplying you. Not for my family. My problems are _not_ your problems, Harry, you are _nineteen years old_. Your problems are school and sex and ramen noodles, not children and cocaine dealing.” He put a hand on Harry’s arm, giving a small smile. “And we’ll manage, new shoes or not. We’ve always managed.” 

For a while, they stood there, staring at each other, Louis with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and Harry shifting weight and flicking his gaze around, pulling and pushing at his own hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said in the end, “I _have_ to go in.” 

“ _Why_?” Louis exclaimed exasperatedly, pulling on Harry’s arm as he began to walk again. 

“This guy doesn’t like when you don’t keep your promises.” Reaching the right door, Harry stopped to look at Louis. “I have to sell this for him now. I promised him. Okay?” 

“Harry, I don’t…” He didn’t want him to go up there alone, when everything about his body language said ‘I'm scared and I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into’. He didn’t want Harry to go up there alone, risking it, when essentially, this was all Louis’ fault. He didn’t want to leave Harry’s side now. And so the only thing he _could_ do became abundantly clear. “Right,” he said, determined, “I’m staying here with you.” 

“What d’you mean?” 

“I mean what I say. We’ll pick this shit up together and then-”

“No,” Harry shoved him, in some ridiculous attempt to get him to leave. “No,” he repeated, shoving Louis again.

“Quit shoving me, you’re not-” 

“No,” shove, “no,” shove, “leave,” hard shove, “Louis, I swear to God, I will pick you off the fuckin ground and-”

Before he could say anything more, the door they were standing in front of was pulled open. They both spun around, their mouths snapping shut. 

A man, with a black hoodie pulled over his head, kept the door ajar as he asked, “Harry Styles?” 

Louis wanted to slap him right then for actually giving the guy his real name, but he stood still, frozen in his spot. 

“Yes that’s me,” Harry replied, his voice shaky. 

The bloke moved his gaze to Louis. “And who’re you?” 

“No one.” 

“All right, no one. Give us your name or your friend here isn’t getting his stuff. And if he isn’t getting his stuff, we have a few people up here that won’t be very happy with him.” Louis was scanning his brain for any random name to blurt out, when the guy added, “and don’t try and give us a fake name ‘cause we’ll find out. Trust me, we will.” 

“Ehm,” Louis heartrate was speeding, going at a hundred miles an hour. He could tell Harry’s fingers were trembling and not from the cold. His stomach was twisted into nauseating knots and the guy in the hoodie looked like he didn’t have two seconds to spare. “All right, eh. L… Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” 

The bloke looked him over, then nodded. His head disappeared for a second, and before Louis could speak, a hand with a big plastic bag was stuck out. “Be back here with the money in three weeks max. You’ve got our number.” 

“But-” The door slammed shut in Harry’s face. 

They stood for a few seconds, staring at the closed door, only the sounds of the rain behind them breaking the silence. 

Slowly, Louis opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Harry had whipped around and shoved him hard in the chest. Louis stumbled backwards onto the pavement, only just managing not to fall on his arse. 

“You fucking _idiot_!” Harry screamed, shoving him again. His face was reddening, his eyes panicky. Louis had never seen him like this, honestly didn’t think he had that side to him. “Now they know your name!” he shoved Louis again, moving him backwards down the pavement, “they know your _face_!” he screamed, grabbing onto Louis’ face with both his big hands. He pressed his forehead against Louis’, gripping his jaw so hard it almost hurt, and gritted out, “you’re so fucking _stupid_ , Louis.” He knocked his forehead against Louis’, but not hard enough to hurt, “so _fucking_ stupid.” 

“Yeah, well,” Louis breathed, meeting Harry’s eyes, “that makes two of us, then.” 

Harry looked at him for five seconds straight, his jaw twitching. Then he moved back jerkily, hissed an exasperated ‘ _fuck_!’ and then went to pick up the bag of drugs he’d dropped on the ground. 

He insisted on walking Louis all the way home. Louis said no four times, which resulted in exactly four physical altercations. In the end, Louis just marched home, accepting that Harry was four steps behind him the entire way. 

He stopped outside his trailer for a cigarette and Harry stood there beside him, leant back against the wall. They didn’t speak for ten minutes as Louis slowly finished his fag. 

“I just care about you, that’s all,” Harry said when Louis was stubbing it out. 

Louis sighed at the ground, then said, after a beat, “same here.” 

“Fuck, Louis.” 

“Fuck, Harry.” 

Louis smiled up at him sardonically. Oh, they were so royally fucked. “So,” he said, “s’this count as our second date, then?” 

Harry laughed and so did Louis, only because it was so fucking far from relevant right then. It was all too heavy too soon. 

“I’ll come by tomorrow. Got to chat to Niall about dealing,” Harry said after the laughter had faded. 

“All right,” Louis said, meeting his eyes. 

He looked warm. He looked soft. And he looked sorry. 

Louis dragged his clammy hand across his face, then gave in and reached out for Harry’s hoodie. He pulled him close by the fabric, wrapping his arms around his waist and nosing into his chest. Harry went easily, moulding into every move Louis made. 

At some point, they found each other’s mouths. Louis wasn’t sure who instigated it, but it was different. Easy. Not as violent as the other times, not as desperate. It was driven by something else that night. A need to stay close without having to speak, rather than a need for each other’s bodies. 

They were royally fucked, the two of them. Destined to fail and just incredibly stupid. They were all of those things and that was pretty shit, but for thirty minutes at the end of that evening, they were just two boys, snogging up against a trailer-home.


	11. Chapter 11

“All right. So tomorrow night I’m going club-jumpin’ on the sell. I’ll do that every evening if I don’t get any sells. On Sunday after that I’ve got a bloke picking up fifty grams, which is great. So by Monday we should’ve gotten at least half a hundred grams sold. If all goes well.” 

Niall lifted his gaze from Harry’s laptop, nodding contently. 

He, Harry, Louis and Lottie were all perched across the big bed, Harry between Louis’ legs, rested back against his stomach. Harry had arrived late afternoon with Chinese take-away for everyone. Louis suspected it was merely a sly attempt at getting back in his good graces. He also decided that he’d take it, seeing as he couldn’t afford dinner.

They’d eaten, they’d played fish, they’d read the little ones to sleep, and now, to top off the perfect family evening, they were sitting in the bed, planning how and when to sell their three-hundred grams of cocaine. It was nothing if not idyllic. 

“Right,” Lottie said, “and I’ve gotten into a college party with some of my girlfriends. We should be able to sell some.” 

“And then I’ll take care of the rest,” Harry concluded. “And Louis,” he tilted his head back against Louis’ chest, giving him a bright-eyed lop-sided smile, “you’ll stay home and take care of the kids.” 

Louis shifted, fixing his jeans under Harry. “Think my balls just shrunk three sizes there, mate.” 

Harry nudged him in the crotch with his elbow. “I’ll fix that for you later,” he muttered, which made Lottie scream “meeting adjourned!” and Niall scrunch his face up in disgust. 

Soon after, they all went to bed. The decision that Niall took the toddlers to sleep with him on his mattress and Harry slept in Louis’ bed was made without anyone really ever saying anything. It was late, Harry had had a few beers and, well, Louis didn’t want him to leave. Maybe it showed. Maybe it came screaming from his throat every time he scoffed at one of Harry’s dad jokes. Maybe it was written in the lines of his frown whenever Harry fucked up his words in the middle of a sentence. Maybe the only one Louis was fooling was himself, thinking he had any sort of control in this. Thinking he hadn’t already lost his mind over Harry. 

They lied down, side by side, staring up at the ceiling. 

Harry shifted onto his side, splaying a hand out on Louis’ chest, right where his heart was punching through his ribcage. He moved in, slowly, puffing unsteady breaths onto the side of Louis’ face. Soon he was close enough to press his lips to Louis’ cheekbone, then another to the apple of his cheek and one to the side of his mouth. “This okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Louis rolled over to face him, “come closer.” 

It was dark, but Harry’s eyes were bright before him, young and boyish for a moment as he shifted close as he could. Their arms snaked around each other under the duvets, their legs entangling and cocks rubbing close enough for friction. 

But it wasn’t about that right then.

Right then, in that quiet little moment under the duvet, it was just about Harry kissing Louis’ forehead, humming contentedly and murmuring, “god, I’ve needed this.” 

 

*

In the morning, Louis woke wrapped around Harry, both legs hooked over his thighs and his hands linked together around his stomach. His nose was buried in Harry’s long hair and he smelled nice. Fresh. A bit like morning dew on grass and drugstore lemon shampoo. His body felt strong and soft at the same time, his stomach muscles flexing ever so slightly under Louis’ fingers with every breath he took. Lying there, Louis caught himself thinking for a second- this could be okay. He could be okay waking up like this, every now and again. 

Of course, the moment was broken by Freddie screaming at the top of his lunges and Niall groaning something along the lines of ‘cut the duck up!’. 

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Louis sighed, untangling himself from Harry, clumsily crawling over him and reaching down into Freddie’s crib to pick him up into his arms. “Yeah yeah yeah, shhh, love, shhh.” 

Freddie hiccupped over a sob and then punched Louis’ cheek with his fat little baby fist.

“Yeah yeah, I know you’re hungry,” Louis hummed, bopping him at his chest, “shhh, little lad, no need to make a fuss.” He hitched Freddie up in his arms as he stepped out of bed, inching around Niall, and making it to the kitchen to warm up Freddie’s formula. 

The toddlers were already up, running around between his legs, constantly almost making him trip face forward onto the floor and squash poor Freddie. In the end, they sort of seemed to have disappeared and Louis sat on the kitchen counter, feeding Freddie his bottle in peace. 

It wasn’t until he padded back to bed with the content baby babbling at his collarbone that he realised they’d taken to bothering Harry instead. They’d jumped onto him, woken him and were now in what seemed to be a ‘who-can-scream-the-loudest-closest-to-Harry’s-face’-contest. Ernest was pulling at Harry’s cheeks and scratching at his many tattoos while Doris was attempting at a sloppy braid in his long hair. 

“Guys,” Louis sighed, “give Harry a chance to have a cuppa before you assault him, please.”

Harry just grinned up at him. “S’all right, I don’t mind being assaulted every now and again,” he patted the curve in the mattress where Louis had slept, “come here.” 

Well, all right, then. Louis clambered across the bed, sliding up beside Harry and re-positioning a softly whimpering Freddie in his arms. Harry smiled at him, then Freddie, reaching down to play with his pudgy little fingers. 

“God,” he said, sounding almost exasperated, “I could literally eat him, Louis. Like, I mean it. I could have him for breakfast.” 

“Do I need to worry?” 

“Yeah, I’ve even brought marinade and a baster,” Harry looked at him with wide serious eyes for three seconds before breaking into a childish grin. 

Louis rolled his eyes. “So. Are you going to stick around here all day or?” Please. 

“I was thinking of going somewhere.” Oh. “With all of you guys.” _Oh_.

Louis glanced down at the toddlers, who were now punching and biting at Harry’s huge feet. Next thing, he heard Fizzy screaming at Phoebe and Daisy for stealing her lipstick for a period-pad prank. Then Lottie shouting at her boyfriend over the phone. Niall cussing at the kitchen cabinet. 

“Uhm,” he looked back at Harry, sceptical, “what kind of place exactly?” 

“Like… well, I was thinking we could go ice-skating.” 

“ _Ice-skating_?” Louis squeaked. “Mate, do I look like someone who knows how to ice-skate?” 

“No,” Harry replied simply, “and that’s exactly why I’m going to teach you.” 

One and a half hour later, Louis, Harry, the toddlers, the twin girls and Fizzy were on their way on a family trip. Apparently, Harry knew a guy who knew a guy who knew the guy behind the stand at the indoors ice-skating rink nearby, and that guy was willing to get them in for free. ‘It helps business if it looks like a lot of people come here’ the guy explained as he let them through to the place. ‘Just don’t tell anyone.’

Louis scouted the ice-skating rink. A few women were warily trying to make their way forward without looking stupid in the process. A couple children were desperately clinging on to skating aid’s while waggling their way forward. One professional-looking prick was rushing around the perimeter like he was in the damn one-man Olympics, almost knocking every amateur over as he passed them. 

“Right,” Louis said, plopping down on a bench, “come on, bubz.” 

He grabbed Doris by the waist, dragging her close enough to lift her up on his lap and then began sealing her boots. After her went Ernest, who was a right bother, wriggling and screaming. Eventually, he accepted the fact that he had to be helped in order to be able to ski. Then, Louis helped Daisy and Phoebe seal their shoes and then he had to do his own. Which apparently, was impossible.

“Need help?” Harry asked him.

“I’m good, thanks,” Louis muttered. But he was lying. He didn’t know how the hell to tie these shitting boots on himself. 

After a few minutes of struggling, Harry looked over at Louis again, raising a brow. “Sure you don’t need a hand?” 

“Yeah,” Louis hissed, “just need to… need to… _urgh_.” 

“Oh for fucks sake,” Fizzy exclaimed from beside them. “Just let me help you, then.” She tied Louis’ shoes for him in three seconds and then they were all ready to skate. 

The toddlers were already impatient, Ernest whimpering and Doris stamping her feet.

Louis looked over at Harry. “Should we?” 

“We should,” Harry replied, smiling. 

They stepped onto the ice-skating rink, and almost immediately, Louis slipped. He fell directly onto his arse and shouted ‘arh, _fucker_!’ so loudly several heads turned.

Harry laughed and helped him up while Fizzy just laughed and did nothing. “Good thing you’ve got so much padding on your arse,” she said, “otherwise you’d have broken your tailbone or summat.” 

“Fuck off,” Louis replied, but didn’t miss the way Harry’s eyes went directly to his arse at the mention of it. 

“Let me just,” he murmured, slapping loose ice off of Louis’ arse, “let me just…” he slapped him again, twice, even though he didn’t have to. “Just… yeah, that’s it. Clean as a trumpet.” 

“Whistle.”

“ _Piss_ le,” Harry smiled and gave Louis’ arse another slap.

Louis’ lips quirked upwards into a private little smile as he looked up at Harry through is lashes and murmured lowly, “god, you are so…”

“Guys, there are children here,” Fizzy interrupted. 

As irritating as she was, she was also right. 

Louis turned to help Ernest onto the rink while Harry took Doris. Fizzy was off the second everyone was on the rink, and apparently, she’d neglected to inform Louis that she was a professional ice-skater. Or at least the very definition of a natural. Within fifteen minutes, she was swooshing around the rink in tempo with the other professional prick. She even tripped him once on purpose, Louis saw, and then lied her way out of it - “oh I’m so sorry sir, it was a total accident, I’m half blind so I can’t always see what I’m doing. Please don’t be mad, sir, my dog just died, sir.”. 

“She’s really something,” Harry said, skating up behind Louis, who was at a standstill, pretending to be helping Ernest with his technique, but really just being scared to slip on his arse again if he moved. “Never met a twelve-year-old with that kind of confidence before.” 

“She’s a beast, I know,” Louis muttered from where he was now bent over trying to stop Ernest from eating loose ice off the ground. “Don’t know where she gets it from.” 

“Hm,” and then, ever so subtly, a hand ran up the backside of Louis’ thigh. It was light and teasing, but a shudder shot up through Louis’ spine all the same. “Somehow I doubt that.” 

When Louis stood up straight again, Harry had skated a few feet forward. He spun around easily, like he’d done it a million times before, and smiled at Louis innocently. “What are you looking at me like that for?” he asked, keeping both hands linked behind his back like a shy little quire-boy.

“Oh,” Louis snorted dryly, “sorry, I didn’t even notice you’d jumped in front of my view. You don’t have that power over me.” 

“No?” Harry’s grin was so apparent in his voice Louis would’ve seen it even if he weren’t looking. But he was. Always was. “You hardly even notice I’m around?” 

“Exactly,” Louis fastened his grip on Ernest’s hand and did a little nonchalant throw of his head, which probably came off campier than anything. “It doesn’t affect me. You’re just there. If you weren’t there, I’d still be staring straight ahead. Makes no dif.” 

“ _Makes no dif_ ,” Harry echoed, laughing and skating closer. “No dif at all,” he tacked on, slipping his hand into Ernest’ free one and skating the last foot closer. 

He leant in, close enough to touch his chin to Louis’ shoulder and press his soft lips to Louis’ cold cheek. Automatically, like it wasn’t even a conscious choice, Louis leant into it, twisted his neck and pecked Harry right on his big mouth. 

Harry petted his cheek right where he’d kissed it, then pulled back and smiled softly, giving Louis’ arm a squeeze. “You’re such a terrible liar.” 

“Well,” Louis’ throat felt dry, “you only think that because you have no idea when I’m lying to you and when I’m just playing.” 

“S’that so?” 

“It is. My name’s not even Louis.” 

“No? What is it then?” 

Louis smiled. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He almost choked on the words, fighting not to cringe or laugh as he spoke. 

“You disgust me.” Harry smiled so widely his mouth might split in two. And then, “if you weren’t so fucking sexy I’d have dumped you weeks ago.” 

And, well – right, then. 

They spent another two hours skating around with the toddlers between them. Harry made sure they held on to each other while Harry and Louis were both on either side, keeping them from falling. Louis’ side was undoubtedly the most fragile one, since Louis didn’t know what the hell he was doing. Half of the time, he was on the verge of falling flat on his forehead, pretending to be dancing whenever he almost did. 

The twins skated up to them at one point, taking Harry and Louis’ free hands to try and form some sort of family-chain formation. Soon after, they’d sprained Professional Olympic Prick’s ankle, Fizzy had called him a ‘fucking cry-baby’ and they’d left the ice-skating rink for the day.

“So,” Harry said as they made their way to the nearby cafeteria, “let’s all agree to never go ice-skating again.” 

“Yup,” Louis said, and then, “all right, so Niall’s out on the sell right now, but Lottie’s home with Freddie. She probably doesn’t expect us home for another couple hours, but… I’m kind of knackered and… well, my bum sort of hurts.” 

“Wouldn’t be a fir…” 

“ _Fizzy_!” 

“Sorry,” she lifted her hands in defence, “just telling it like it is, brother.” 

Harry laughed and told Louis it was okay if he’d been ‘a bit of a slut’ beforehand. Louis then told him off for using the word ‘slut’ in front of the twins and toddlers – and Fizzy, although she was already sort of a lost cause. Harry apologised and Fizzy then proceeded to singing ‘the slut song’, that her class-mate had made up, on repeat for the entire time they were chowing down hotdogs at the cafeteria.

Soon after, they’d gotten so many dirty looks from the cafeteria-staff that they decided it was time to go home. All of the kids jumped into the back of Harry’s rusty old van and Harry and Louis took the front seats.

“Okay, if they’ve, like, ruined the back of your van once we arrive home it’s not on me,” Louis said as he clicked his seatbelt. 

Harry just chuckled. 

They drove in comfortable silence all the way home. The sun was setting and Harry’s radio was playing a soft pop-tune and after a few minutes, Harry moved his hand to rest on Louis’ thigh. It wasn’t a sexual thing. It wasn’t a subtle, sly move. Right then, it was just that. Affection. 

Louis almost couldn’t handle it. 

By the time they arrived home, it was dark out. The children in the back had luckily not ruined the back of Harry’s van, so all seemed in good order. 

They trotted across the lot, Harry and Louis hand in hand with a toddler on each of their free arms. It’d been a nice day, Louis thought to himself, all things considered. It’d been cosy. They hadn’t spent heaps of money and they hadn’t had long talks about their feelings and eaten gourmet food, but – they’d had fun. All of them. They’d laughed and they’d fucked up every stranger that passed them’s day. It’d been nice.

Then Louis opened the trailer-home door. 

“So I was thinking we could just eat some left-over toast and…” his voice trailed off as he was met with the sight of his own bed. His own bed with Lottie in it.

But it wasn’t just that. 

On top of her, in-between her legs, rutting and moaning and groaning, was a greasy-haired spaghetti-armed creature; Chace. 

“Oh. Oh my _god_.” 

Louis instinctively backed up, falling backwards out of the trailer-home. To his luck, Harry was standing right behind him and grabbed him before he landed flat-backed on the ground. 

“What’s going on?” he asked in oblivious confusion. “You all right?” 

“Shit,” Louis hissed. He spun around to look at his family waiting in the cold to be let inside. It took three seconds, and then Louis came to his senses. He handed Ernest over to Harry, saying, “hold him for a sec” and then turned and stepped back into the trailer-home.

Lottie was now holding her shirt up to cover her breasts while Chace-Face was struggling to re-buckle his belt, red in the cheeks and sweaty in the forehead. 

Louis glanced down toward Freddie’s crib. He was just lying there, by the bed, thankfully sleeping. 

“What the hell are you two doing?” Louis asked when he realised no one had spoken for several minutes. “Were you just about to have sex in my bed?” 

“No,” Lottie screamed. “How gross are you?!” 

“I don’t know, but I’m not the one rubbing off on some schmuck in me own brother’s bed!” 

Chandelier got his belt buckled and his shirt re-buttoned and leaped off the bed. With an awkward grunted “I better get going”, he inched past Louis and left the trailer. 

Lottie slipped her shirt back on and pulled out her phone, crossing her legs and not looking up once. Like that was just it. Like she could just get away with everything easy as nothing. 

Well, she couldn’t. “Your two-year-old siblings sleep in this bed,” Louis hissed, “that’s absolutely disgusting.” 

“Oh as if you haven’t fucked your new boyfriend in this bed as well.” 

As if he hadn’t. Which he… hadn’t. “That’s different,” Louis said, “it’s my bed and I’m a grown adult.”

“I am too. I’m fifteen. Chace is sixteen. We’re legally allowed to have sex.”

“That’s all very well and good, but you’re not _morally_ allowed to fuck in my fucking bed!” 

Lottie huffed a sharp breath out through her nose, staring at him, fire in her eyes. Louis stared back, relentless. There had to be some sort of discipline. This couldn’t be an all right thing to do. Could it? No. No it couldn’t. Proper parents, if Lottie had some, wouldn’t have accepted this without a reprimand. He’d have to be tough now. 

He was interrupted in his thoughts by Fizzie pushing past him from behind, soon followed by the twins and Harry with the toddlers. They filled into the trailer without taking much notice of the cold air between Lottie and Louis, who was still leant back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her. 

“Well,” Lottie clapped her hands together, getting off the bed, “I’m going to go call up my boyfriend and apologise to him.” 

That did it; the last stretch that made the proverbial elastic band snap. “You are not going anywhere,” Louis shouted. Every head in the room snapped up, every mouth snapped shut, and Louis didn’t give a shit. There had to be consequences. Being fifteen was not being an adult and fucking in your brother’s bed was just disgusting no matter which age you were. “Sit.” 

“But-”

Louis snapped his fingers toward the bed, shouting, “ _sit_ ” again, so harshly that Lottie plopped right back down, shocked into silence. “Stay put.” 

“Oh daaamn,” Fizzie sang from behind them, “shit’s about to go dooooown.” 

“Shut up, Félicité.” She did, probably only because she felt just as weird about hearing her full name used as Louis felt saying it. 

He turned his attention back on Lottie, who was now sitting with her hands gathered in her lap, twisting her ring around her finger. If she could see inside Louis’ head she’d know he felt just as uncomfortable about this as she did. He rarely ever scolded the kids and certainly not when it came to things like sex and boyfriends. As someone who’d lost his virginity at thirteen behind a tank-station, he didn’t feel entitled to tell anyone what to do with their bodies. But he supposed sometimes you had to be hypocritical in order to be a good parent. Whether the kids then followed your advice would be out of your hands. Louis knew _he’d_ never have. 

He walked over to sit down beside Lottie, waiting until everyone else in the room stopped staring at them and went on with their own business. 

“First off,” he said, staring at his owns knee’s as he spoke, “you don’t apologise to Brace.” 

“Chace.”

“Chace, yeah, whatever. You don’t apologise to Chace, you apologise to me. You apologise to _me_. You get that?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Good. Second… You do not – you _do not_ fuck in my bed. Not with him, not with anyone. I’m not going to sit here and be stupid enough to think that me telling you not to have sex with your boyfriend is ever going to stop you from doing so. But I will say these two things; if I find out that you’ve been having sex with him without being safe, I will lose a hell of a lot of respect for you, Lots. Because I know you’re smarter than that.” 

She nodded again.

“And,” he looked her in the eye, arching his brows, “if I ever, _ever_ catch you getting it on with Briefcase in my bed again, I swear to god, I will hunt him down and I _will_ kill him. And then I’ll kill you. And then the rest of the family. And then myself. And then Niall, just for good measure. All right?” 

She laughed breathily, nodding. “All right. I suppose that’s fair.” 

“Yep.” He reached forward, giving her chin a little squeeze. “Now, let’s quit this soppy afterschool-special shit and have some leftover toast, yeah?” 

She smiled. “Yeah.” 

Relatively satisfied with how he’d handled the parental moment, Louis toasted bread for everyone while fondly listening in on Harry drawling the toddlers to sleep. They all ate in the big bed while watching a movie on Harry’s laptop. Louis allowed them to put on The Notebook, only because Harry had his arm around him, fingers curled loosely around the fabric of his t-shirt sleeve and he didn’t much feel like ruining the moment. 

The movie was a shit-show, quite frankly. Stupid plot, stupid people and stupid lines – ‘if you’re a bird, I’m a bird’, Jesus Christ, grow a fucking spine. In fact, it was so bad that Louis’ tear ducts started acting up in protest toward the ending and he had to use a tissue to dry his eyes. Stupid movie. 

The worst part was how all the girls ate it right up – the girls including Harry, who was sniffling into Louis’ neck half of the time. How they got their expectations of love pushed so high they’d never be satisfied with whatever unbothered telly addict they’d someday end up with. Louis despised these kinds of movies for that. 

“Like porn for women,” he said to Harry in a heated rant about the movie after everyone else had gone to bed, “how the hell’s any man ever going to be enough for anyone if they make men out to be these honey-hearted fluffballs?” 

Harry just chuckled softly and pulled him closer. “Who’s to say some men aren’t honey-hearted fluffballs?” 

“Uhm… _Men_?” 

“Well I’m a man and I’m a honey-hearted fluffball.” Harry took Louis’ hand to place it on his chest. “Can you feel that? Kind of sticky, innit? That’s honey.” 

Louis grunted, but shuffled closer to lie on his chest. Harry dragged the duvet upwards and tucked it in a little to wrap them up together. 

“Well, _I’m_ not,” Louis murmured belatedly. 

“Not what?” 

“A honey-hearted fuckball.” 

“Hm,” the vibration of Harry’s hum against his hair sent tickles down Louis’ spine. He shifted a little, just to make himself survive it. “Then what are you?” Harry asked.

Louis took a few seconds to think, then replied, “I’m an old-fashioned stoic man of few words.” 

That made Harry bark a laugh so screechy it almost hurt Louis’ ear. “ _Man of few words_?” 

“Yes.” 

Harry looked down at him, his grin spreading wider with each second neither of them spoke. “Okay, now you’re just being quiet to prove your point." 

“No,” Louis said. 

Harry rested back on his pillow again, sighing contentedly. “Well,” he said, “can’t say I’m not relieved about this. Starting to think you’d never stop jabbering. Couldn’t get a fucking word-in, Jesus Christ.” He laughed when Louis started pinching him, but didn’t stop, “in the end it was just like… like, jesus fuck, does she ever stop? Girl just rattles on and on and…”

When Louis couldn’t come up with anything better to shut him up, he just reached up and pressed his hand over Harry’s mouth. 

They stared at each other for several seconds, laughing with their eyes, challenging each other. 

Slowly, smoothly, without either being able to pinpoint what changed, the moment stopped being funny. Louis’ hand covering Harry’s mouth got tighter, harder. Harry’s eyes went darker, the crinkles from his laugh disappearing. 

Louis slid his free hand up Harry’s t-shirt, feeling at the light hairs of his happy trail. Feeling how his stomach muscles twitched at his touch. 

He met Harry’s eyes again and they’d gone a little softer. Pleading. Waiting. Louis surged down to his neck, biting at his skin and Harry’s hot breath hitched against the palm of his hand. He reached right down and pulled Harry’s legs apart, fell in between them and snapped his hips against Harry’s. Harry moaned against his hand and Louis tightened it, his thumb digging into the underside of Harry’s jaw. 

Maybe it was the fact that Harry was already hard against him, maybe it was the slight spread of his soft lips against Louis’ fingers or maybe it was just the look in his eye, but Louis couldn’t hold back anymore. Couldn’t wait one second longer. “Fuck me,” he whispered against Harry’s neck, “I need… need us to fuck tonight. Can’t… you’ve got to let me have you now.” 

Harry’s hips were still desperately bucking upwards against Louis’, but his torso had gone rigid. Louis pulled back to look at him. “Please,” he whispered, “this is good, but… I need. Something more, Haz.” 

“I…” Harry’s gaze flicked to the side, where they’d pulled the curtain for privacy. He bit his rosy bottom lip. Louis wanted to do the same. Bite his lips, suck his skin, tear him apart and put him back together again. Have him fully. All of him. Now. 

“What? What, is it… Is it because we’re in the same room as the others?” 

Harry didn’t give an answer, but Louis had it in the look in his eyes. 

He sighed, deflating on top of Harry. “I can’t blame you, love,” he said, fixing his throbbing hard boner in his pants to try and get comfortable, “but god, I’ve just waited for too long.” 

They lied together, silent for a moment. Harry’s fingers trailed lazily up and down Louis’ arm, his heart thundering against Louis’ cheek in contrast. 

“Louis.” His voice came out rough, like he’d been quiet for much longer than he had. “I, uhm… when I… I really like to top.” 

“What?” Louis lifted his head. “You what?” 

“I really like to top… you know, during sex.” 

“Uhm… well, good?” Louis shifted to sit up, straddling him. “I mean, because I really like to bottom.” 

“So… When I top I get really into it. And too loud and I’d like to… I’d just really like to fuck you the first time when I can be…” 

Louis bit back a grin. “You want to be able to go crazy on me, is that what you’re saying?” 

“Well... yeah.” 

They both laughed, just because. 

After it faded, they were sitting in silence again. Louis could feel Harry’s eyes on his face, but he didn’t look up from where he was fiddling with the front of Harry’s t-shirt. 

Not until he was sure he’d understood Harry right. 

“Right,” he said, swinging his leg over him and moving off of him. “Turn over, love.” 

He wasn’t sure what reaction he’d expected, but he was pleased with the one he got; Harry complied, rolling easily onto his stomach and burying his face sideways in the pillow. 

It’d been a long time since Louis had been with someone fully and an even longer time since he’d topped. He fingered Harry for too long, then broke a condom just trying to put it on. He slipped out several times trying to get in him and Harry had to move around and suck him for a bit before they could attempt again.

But then, on the second go, he got himself pushed in. And it felt _so_ good. 

As he bottomed out, his pelvis pressing against Harry’s arse, he grabbed onto the back of Harry’s biceps to steady himself. He buried his face in the nape of Harry’s sweaty neck, muffling a groan at the first pull-out and thrust in. The feel of Harry’s tight muscle around him, his hot walls and the way he clenched a little each time Louis changed angles was better than he’d ever remembered topping could be. 

“Fucking hell,” he hissed against Harry’s ear, lying down on him. Harry spread his legs further and arched his back. “ _Shit_ , that’s… fuck, that’s good.”

Harry gave a choked chuckle, then reached back and snaked his fingers into Louis’ hair, getting him close enough for a sloppy sideways kiss. “Go harder,” he whispered when their lips parted.

“Yeah?” Louis snapped his hips, making them both ruck up the mattress with the force of it. He did it again and Harry groaned down into the pillow. “Like that?” 

“I need you to…” Harry’s eyes were going glassy, half of the pillow tucked between his teeth, “need it really…”

“Need what? Tell me,” Louis breathed back, but wasn’t giving him much chance to do so with how hard and relentlessly he was thrusting into him. 

“Keep going,” Harry panted, “just… need it really hard. Give it to me really really hard.” 

And the way he asked for it, the way the veins in his forehead and the side of his jaw were popping out like he was already being fucked too hard for his own good, well, it was too hot to ever say no to. 

Louis snapped his hips again, then lied down on Harry fully, stuck four fingers into his mouth to hold onto something and fucked him. Hard. Each thrust made the shelves above the bed rustle, the feathers in the bed creaking violently all throughout. Louis buried every groan and filthy insult in Harry’s shoulder and Harry was biting his fingers so hard he’d be screaming if he wasn’t too caught up in how good it felt to have Harry like this. To hold such a big strong man down and give it to him so hard he couldn’t even speak, couldn’t even moan, could just groan into the pillow and take it. 

When he couldn’t possibly hold off any longer, Louis shot into the condom inside Harry, biting down on his shoulder. He pulled out, let Harry turn him over, crawl up his chest and fuck his mouth until he came in it. 

The first time Harry ever came in Louis’ mouth, they were in a handicap-stall and he was doing it for a blunt. Tonight, he was doing because he wanted it. He swallowed without a second thought and Harry fell back on the mattress beside him with a shaky exhale. 

“Bloody hell,” Louis panted, his chest still lifting and falling rapidly for minutes after. He was bathed in sweat and the muscles in the back of his thighs were beginning to ache. His sacrum was sore and his fingers had deep purple bite-marks in them. He rolled onto his side to look at Harry. He looked about ten times worse off. “God, you look fucked.” 

Harry couldn’t manage more than a breathy laugh and a heavy arm slapped onto Louis’ chest in response. 

“Absolutely wrecked, you,” Louis continued, “didn’t know you were such a little bottom-slut.” 

Harry laughed exasperatedly. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“Learn something new every day, don’t I. By the way, don’t be pissy if you can’t walk all day tomorrow. You asked for it yourself. Goodnight.” 

He rolled onto his side, facing away from Harry and tried to find a spot on the mattress that wasn’t completely soaked from sweat and too much lube. 

Seconds later, Harry rolled wordlessly over the space between them, fitting himself around Louis from behind, kissing from the spot between his shoulder-blades, up the nape of his neck and into his hair. He bit on Louis’ ear gently, then kissed behind it and pulled him closer, humming happily and murmuring, “bloody great dick you have, Tommo. Sleep well.”

And that, he did.


	12. Chapter 12

He leant his hip against the counter during a lull in costumer-traffic, studying his hand. To the unknowing eye, it looked like a normal man’s hand, albeit perhaps a delicate one at that. Regardless, nothing looked wrong with it. And really, there _was_ nothing wrong. Nothing Louis minded anyway. What there was, though, were three light purple marks, planted there on the front of his fingers. A subtle reminder of last night. 

A less subtle reminder was how the muscles in the back of Louis’ thighs still ached each time he bent down to pick something off the floor. 

It didn’t help that Zayn insisted on slapping his arse every time he did so. At this point it didn’t even seem like a conscious choice anymore. Pass Louis; slap his arse. Pass him again; slap his arse again. See him bending down to pick something off the floor; smack his arse so hard he falls flat on his forehead. 

“You know, for someone who claims to be straight you do seem to spend an awful lot of time with your hands below my waist-area,” Louis said as he’d just been sexually harassed for the seventeenth time that workday.

“Oh, Lou,” Zayn said in a patronizing tone, stopping to tut at him, “are you trying to convince me that I’m gay again? Is this like the time at the Christmas party where you got pissed and told me I had beautiful eyes?” 

“Shut up.” 

Zayn laughed, pinching Louis’ cheek as he passed him. “You know I’d go gay for you any day, hun. All you have to do is ask.” 

“Shut _up_ , you twisted fuck.” 

Although Zayn was a great guy, Louis also suspected that he suffered from a disease particularly common in particularly good-looking people; need-for-everyone-to-be-in-love-with-him-itis. It wasn’t dangerous unless you actually did fall in love with him, though, and wasn’t deathly unless you insulted him on his looks. 

But ever since he’d found out that Louis liked men, he’d stepped up the playful flirting. Louis knew he didn’t mean anything by it, would probably find him a horrible cock-tease (which he was) if he’d been Louis’ type, but he wasn’t and, well, Louis didn’t mind the attention. For all that it was, it was flattering enough, so Louis supposed they both got something out of it. 

“Hey, how was it going with, eh…. Ha… Hee… what’s-his-name… Henry, was it?” Zayn asked, when on the topic of gays.

“Yeah. Henry Stools.” 

“Right… weird name... Anyway, what’s up with him? Did you smash or is he still being a little bitch about it?” 

Louis looked up from under his lashes, smirking and swaying his head from side to side in response.

“ _Uh_!” Zayn exclaimed in campy excitement, slapping Louis on the shoulder. “You filthy slut, tell me everything!” 

“Hey, a gentleman never tells.” 

“Exactly. So tell.”

“Fuck you,” Louis said, but couldn’t help but add, “and it was pretty damn great if you ask me. Not to brag or anythin’, but-”

“You always brag.”

“- but I think I wasn’t too bad. Think I did a pretty good job, if I may say so myself.” 

“So, like, who, like, put it in who’s arse? I’ve always wondered how you decide that, what, do you like, do you toss a coin and then whoever wins gets to shove it up the other…” 

Louis turned around on his heel, ending the conversation by walking into the backroom. He found the bag of sugar he was looking for, and when he walked back out, Zayn was in the middle of serving a costumer, thank fuck. 

It wasn’t long though, until Zayn was back on his case; “come on, give me more deets. I needz the juice, man, I needz to know.” 

“Okay, I have literally never in my life come across a straight guy this curious about gay sex.” 

Zayn rolled his eyes around with a smirk, then winked over-exaggeratedly. “Maybe I’m a little bit curious about the other side, eh?” 

“Maybe you’re a little bit of an idiot, eh?” 

“Hey, you’re the one who always tells me I need to broaden my sexual horizons.”

“I’ve literally never ever said that to you in my entire life. Like, _ever_.” 

Zayn reached forward to pet Louis’ cheek in a teasing flirty manor and Louis laughed, slapping it off. “Oh, what’s the matter, babes, I thought you said I had beautiful eyes,” Zayn continued, the relentless sod. God, he needed to get himself a hobby apart from pulling. 

He reached forward again, cupping Louis’ cheek, then began doing a mock-imitation of Louis at the Christmas-party, “Zzzzayn, baby, you’re just szoo, szoo fuckin’… you’re eyes, like, they’re like… like, szzszjust two really big, like, suns, but like… they’re black. So like, black sunzs that szparkle and…”

Louis was laughing so hard he didn’t even notice someone coming up to the counter. 

Not until they cleared their throat loudly. 

Slapping Zayn’s hand off his face again, Louis whipped around to find that his luck hadn’t and wouldn’t ever change. “Harry!” 

“Hey,” Harry’s gaze flicked from Louis to Zayn, then back again. He pasted on a tight-lipped smile, sticking his hands into his jean-pockets and tipping his weight back on his heels. “So… this looks fun.” 

Louis gave an awkward laugh, scratching at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… yeah, god s’it already five? Wow, time flies, dunnit.” 

“When you’re having fun,” Harry finished tonelessly. 

“Uhm. Yeah.” Louis looked at Zayn, then Harry, then Zayn, then the innocent lady standing behind Harry in the cue, then back at Harry. “Right. Well, I guess that’s the end of my shift, then. I’ll just go throw my apron in the hamper and then I’ll be out, Haz.” 

“All right, babe,” Harry called after him as he walked toward the backroom-door. Louis didn’t think he’d ever heard a ‘babe’ that sounded more like a ‘twat’ in his life.

Louis quickly discarded his apron, threw a hand through his fringe and then walked back out. He had a feeling that leaving Zayn and Harry alone together for too long wasn’t the best idea. When he came back out, Harry was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the counter and smacking his lips over and over again and Zayn was pretending to be looking for something in the shelves under the cash-till. 

Christ. 

“Bye, Lou, see ya,” Zayn said hurriedly as Louis jumped over the counter and landed on the floor beside Harry. “And uhm, bye Henry. Nice, eh, seeing you.” 

Harry looked at Zayn like he’d just tried punching him in the nose. “Harry,” he said, smiling in a way that looked like he was about to bite Zayn in the throat, “not Henry. _Harry_.” 

In response, Zayn shot Louis a dirty look, mouthing out “bitch” when Harry looked the other way. Louis smiled apologetically. Heh. 

As he and Harry walked out and down the pavement toward his minivan, Louis kept finding himself glancing over at him. He was waiting for something, but not quite sure what. It felt like Harry was holding his breath for too long and all Louis could do was wait for that loud, gasping breath to diffuse the tension.

It came, in a way, when they were sitting in the car. 

“So… That Zayn’s a good-looking guy, in’he?” 

Louis had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from laughing. He’d never been with anyone as embarrassingly obvious as Harry. “Yeah, he is.” 

“Right… must be nice to have something like that to look at when you’re working, huh.” He was staring straight ahead, one hand on the wheel and the other slung around the back of Louis’ chair. He probably thought he was coming off as breezy, but god, was he wrong. The more he spoke, the more he tried to sound casual, the harder it got for Louis not to laugh or want to poke him in one of his dimples and make fun of him. “Pretty guy. Very nice-looking,” he drawled on.

“He is,” Louis said, smiling and nodding, “very pretty. Nice-looking.” 

“Yeah. ‘s… s’good. Lucky… lucky guy.” 

“M-hm.” They drove in silence for a bit. Louis broke the ice on an exhale, “but I mean I guess it doesn’t really affect me that much.” 

Harry shifted a little in his seat, but didn’t spare him a look. “How? What do you mean?” 

“I mean, I don’t really like pretty guys. Or nice-looking guys.” 

“What are you talking about, everyone likes nice-looking people.” 

“Not me. I like ugly people,” Louis said, “the uglier the better. Just, you know, just a stinking fuckin’ minger, that’s exactly my type. The only type I’d ever fuck.” He looked at Harry. Harry’s mouth scrunched up. Louis gave in, laughing loudly. “So fuckin’ ugly even a blind man would sense it. Just the man for me.” 

Harry reached out to the side and punched Louis’ shoulder. “Have I ever told you you’re an arsehole?” 

“God, you look ugly from the side. Like, properly disfigured. Just wanna throw a bag over your head and fuck you right here, right now.” 

Harry laughed. “I was actually a little bit jealous about Zayn before, but thank you, you’ve removed any insecurities I had. Besides, Louis, you’re way too fucking ugly for me to ever have to worry about that to begin with.” 

“Just a fuckin train-wreck, me.” 

“Yeah, like, when I first saw you I thought you were the elephant man,” Harry laughed, “I was like ‘jesus christ, my eyes are bleeding. This guy’s so fucking ugly I just wanna throw him across the desk and fuck the ugly out of him’.” 

Louis pinched him in the arm-fat, laughing. “God…” 

“No, don’t even think God can help you at this point, mate. You’re a lost cause, I’m sorry.” 

Suddenly, Harry pulled over, stopping the car and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“What are you doing, I thought we were going to my place?” 

“Yeah we are, but fuck, you look ugly today. Like, really fuckin’ hideous and I just need to, uhm…” Harry trailed off, grabbing Louis by the back of his neck and pulling him into a kiss. 

Louis chuckled in happy surprise against his lips and curled his fingers around his jaw, sliding his tongue into his mouth. The position he was sitting in was uncomfortable, his seat belt digging into his midsection and the doorhandle chewing at his back, but he didn’t care. It had nothing on the way Harry clung to his mouth, gasped lightly for air when they parted and then ducked right back in as soon as he could. 

He’d keep going till the doorhandle grew into his spine if Harry wanted. 

“Mm,” Harry hummed and pulled back a little to slide his half-parted lips back and forth over Louis’. Louis nipped at his plump bottom lip, prompting Harry to surge forward again, tonguing into his mouth and pulling on the front of his shirt. 

They snogged for another long while. Louis wasn’t quite sure exactly how long, but he was sure he didn’t give a flying fuck. Not when Harry pulled on his shirt and scratched at his hair and kissed him this hungrily. He didn’t think he’d ever snogged someone that made him feel that… wanted.

Eventually, though, Harry did pull back, smiling dazedly. He moved forward one last time, pecking Louis’ lips as if in conclusion and then leant back into his own seat, reaching for his seatbelt again. 

“You’re not too bad at that,” Louis muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “you’re not the worst ever.” 

Harry just turned to look at him, staring till Louis gave in and looked back. His lips looked sore, but Louis just wanted to bite them. His shirt looked ruffled and Louis just wanted to rip it. Take him and wreck him and then kiss it all better. 

In his daze of arousal, Louis forgot that he wasn’t the only one with eyes. That Harry was looking at him too. That Harry was thinking something too. “God,” he said suddenly, ripping Louis out of his head, “just bloody ridiculous, innit.” 

“What?” 

“I mean,” he looked shy as he spoke, and Louis wasn’t sure whether it was genuine or just to be cute or a little bit of both, “look at you.” Harry made an exasperated sound, waving toward Louis’ confused face and then dropped his hand, slap down on his thigh again, “just… christ.” 

It made Louis ears heat in a way they hadn’t for years and he didn’t know what to do with that, so he just snorted dryly and said, “what, I’m too hideous?” 

“Too fucking beautiful.” 

Louis coughed violently. “Come off it,” he rasped, clearing his throat and moving his gaze to the window. Shifting in his seat, fixing his fringe and coughing again. His ears had to be bright red at this point. “Drive, then.” 

Harry laughed. 

Louis jumped a little in his seat, impatient. “Drive, then, you tosser, what are you waiting for?” 

Harry laughed again, fondly. Much too fondly. He reached over and petted Louis’ flushed cheek, then pulled out onto the road again. 

“Thank you,” Louis muttered after a bit, “you’re beautiful too.” He meant the words, but it still came out stunted. 

“Thanks,” Harry chuckled and wrapped his big hand around Louis’ thigh again, giving it a little squeeze, “thanks, babe.” 

 

As they arrived back at the trailer, they were met with screaming and shouting. Even before they reached the door, they could hear the Lottie’s whiny voice complaining about Fizzy’s muddy shoes. 

“What’s going on here?” Louis asked, stepping into the trailer. 

He got his answer in the sight he was met with. Lottie and Niall were both wearing flannels tucked around their waists like aprons, busying around the kitchen area. The toddlers were wandering around aimlessly between their feet, getting in the way. Freddie was staring at it all from his crib, looking like he was unsure whether to scream or to spit up. Phoebe and Daisy had retreated to the loft bed, presumably trying to stay away from Lottie. Fizzy was sitting in the middle of everything on top of the dining table, stirring a bowl of dough. 

“We’re having guests,” she said, smiling widely, “Chacey’s coming for dinner tonight.” 

“Chacey?” 

“Yes!” Lottie put the whisk she was holding down and turned, slapping her dirty hands off on her flannel-apron. “Chace is coming for dinner,” she said, then gave both Harry and Louis a once-over, “and you two have _got_ to change outfits. Seriously.” 

Louis checked himself out; his t-shirt had a suspicious stain on it and his jeans were ripped in places that couldn’t be excused as cool casual skater-fashion by any stretch of the imagination. “I look great, what the hell are you on about.”

“Just… freshen up a bit,” she sighed loudly, “please.” 

Harry and Louis shared a look, then moved to the bed to sit down and sniff their own armpits. 

“I don’t get how she’s suddenly the head of the household just ‘cause she’s got a boyfriend,” Louis muttered, pulling off his stinky t-shirt. “Like, christ, the guys’ such a major douche-face. What the hell is she so bothered about.” 

“Sadly, major douche-faces often have great persuasion skills,” Harry pointed out, “- wait, was it that guy who came running out yesterday after we’d been at the ice-skating rink?” 

“That was him, yeah.” 

“Yeah, okay… Yeah, he looked like a major douche-face.” 

And that, he was. 

Chace arrived half an hour late. The food was cold when he did, and he didn’t so much as apologise to Lottie. The food was also burnt and horrible, but Chace didn’t even have the common curtesy to pretend like it wasn’t. He didn’t make conversation and gave one-syllable answers to pretty much every question he was asked. The worst part was the fact that he didn’t even seem nervous or shy. He just simply couldn’t be arsed. 

The only thing he actually managed to keep a conversation going about for more than thirty seconds was his ‘baby’; his motivational lifestyle-blog. He’d named the blog ‘ **Chace your dreams** ’ – not ‘chase your dreams’, but ‘ _Chace_ your dreams’ - and not in an ironic way. Louis actually drew blood from his lip at one point, biting it so hard to keep from laughing. 

When they’d eaten, Niall and Louis took the dishes while Lottie pulled Chace aside to snog or whatever, and Harry entertained the children. 

“So,” Louis said, once done with the cleaning up, “should we all watch a movie or summat?”

Chace looked at him like he’d just suggested they all have a group-orgie right there on the carpet, then said, “you know, it’s funny because my parents never used to watch tv with me when I was little. They told me the reason was that they wanted to be the ones stimulating my mental growth, not some stranger in a box.” 

Louis stared at him for several seconds, his eyes drying out from lack of blinking. No. Just… no. 

“Right,” he said, managing with massive restraint not to scream or laugh hysterically or launch a plate across the room, “let’s all play cards, then, huh?!” 

That didn’t seem to impress Chace either, but Louis didn’t give a flying fuck at this point. They decided on poker, seeing as the toddlers had already gone to bed and Daisy and Phoebe were too consumed with Harry’s laptop to want to join in. Louis was out almost before he was in, and then moved over to sit in Harry’s lap and help him out. Completely unrelated to that, Harry was the next one out. 

“It’s because your face is made out of rubber,” Louis told him, pulling at his cheeks, “it, like, moulds into whatever emotion you’re feeling before you even notice it. You’re incapable of keeping a poker-face.” 

“And yet I still managed to stay in the game longer than you.” 

Louis grinned. “I lost on purpose.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Oh yeah. Didn’t want you to feel bad if you were the first one out, babe. That’s just the kind of guy I am.” 

Harry laughed, then grabbed him and kissed him. Louis raked his fingers through his long hair, and-

“Guys! Boundaries, _please_.” 

“Oh shut up, you homophobe!” Louis screamed at Fizzy. “Why can’t you handle our love? It’s because I’m black, isn’t it? _Isn’t it_?!” 

Chace looked like he wanted to shoot his own brains out, and so did Lottie, except she didn’t, she looked like she wanted to shoot Louis’ brains out. Either way, Louis decided it was a good idea for him to give Freddie a stroll around the neighbourhood. Also, he’d just woken him with his violent unprompted screaming. Perhaps he got a little stir-crazy in the trailer from time to time.

He and Harry packed Freddie into his stroller and took off.

 

Back in the trailer, Lottie decided it was time to call it quits on poker-night. “Guys,” she said, looking the sorry bunch over, “I think Chace and I are just going to go to his place for the night.” 

“Uhm, actually,” Chace got out of his seat, tugging on the yellow cardigan he’d tied around his neck by the sleeves, “think I’m just going to go home. By myself.” 

Niall’s stomach screwed tight, watching Lottie’s face fall, before she tried to mask it. 

“Why?” she asked, fighting to keep the crooks over her mouth from sagging downwards. “Did I… do you have something you need to…?” 

Shrugging on his jacket, Chace made a smacking sound with his tongue, as if that counted as a response. Then he kissed Lottie’s cheek and left. 

Fizzie and Niall, who were still seated around the table, were left in uncomfortable silence, staring at the stiff lines of Lottie’s back. Niall was searching every corner of his mind to come up with any appropriate ice-breaker, but it felt like nothing he could say would make it less awkward than it already was. 

As opposed to Niall, Fizzy didn’t give a fuck about awkward. “What. A. Fucking. Loser.” She slapped the table, jumped out of her chair and moved to rip open the fridge. “Christ, and he drank all the fuckin’ milk. Arsehat.” 

She grabbed a loose slice of cheese and then joined Phoebe and Daisy in the big bed with Harry’s laptop. 

Niall was still stuck in his spot, waiting for Lottie to move out of hers. 

Slowly, she did. She moved with thumping heavy steps until she reached the chair across from Niall, dragged it out so it screeched loudly across the floor and then plopped down on it with a loud ‘ _umph_ ’. 

“So,” Niall said warily, “let’s all decide to never bring a boyfriend home to meet the family again?” 

Lottie laughed, but it sounded more bitter than anything. She had her elbow rested on the table, face in her palm and the other hand pushing random poker-cards back and forth between ridges in the table. 

“He’s an arsehole, Lottie.” 

“There are worse things to be.” 

“You shouldn’t settle for ‘there are worse things to be’.” 

She looked up at him then, her eyes full of something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Something incredulous, almost. “Settle?” she exclaimed, “ _you’re_ talking to _me_ about settling?” She threw her arms out, “have you _seen_ this place? Niall, we live in a fucking trailer-home. _You_ live in a fucking trailer-home. _You_ don’t even have to. You just do because you can’t be bothered with wanting something bigger, something better.” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but every word got stuck, shaping into a big gooey mass in his throat that he couldn’t rid no matter how many times he swallowed. 

Lottie pummelled on, “I know you all make fun of Chace and I know that you guys call him names because you think he’s ridiculous. But you know what _I_ think is ridiculous, Niall? Being twenty-two years old and living in a trailer-home with seven kids that aren’t even yours and selling weed for a living, just because you’re too scared to go back to school and confirm what you’ve always really thought about yourself; that you wouldn’t succeed even if you gave it a proper go.” She stared at him so hard he couldn’t look away, even as every bone in his body wanted to. “At least Chace _tries_. At least he _does_ something. Maybe he seems pretentious or something to you, but you know what? Being pretentious and having a life seems a whole lot better than being the opposite and sitting here in twenty years, with _nothing_ to show for yourself.” She snorted dryly. “Well, except for not being pretentious, I guess. That’s always great one on the resumé, innit...” 

She got up then, walking away. Niall stayed seated, the gooey lump settled in his throat growing hard.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song suggestions (for the last part of the chapter, mostly ;) ):
> 
> Angel Zoo - Phlake 
> 
> All Weekend Long - Jack & Jack

They strolled down the pavement on a quiet residential street. The sky was pitch-black, safe for the stars and the moon, vague through a screen of night fog. A streetlamp cast a dusty yellowish light down on the top of Harry’s hair and the side of his face, making his eyes twinkle. 

Or maybe that last part was just him. 

“So,” Louis said, when Freddie had dozed off in the stroller, “what’s your take on Lots and Chacey-boy? Hear any wedding bells ringing in the near future?” 

“I mean,” Harry scrunched his nose a little, his chin pushing forward by default and Louis mused at how one could be so big and filthy one second and then so much of a cheeky little child the next. “I think if I were Chace, I’d want to wife Lottie up quick. You know, before she realised how much of a pretentious dick I was.” 

Louis nodded, clicking his tongue. “Smart thinking.” 

“Yeah. No, I mean, he’s probably nice enough, behind all the- the, you know, bullshit. He’s only, what, fifteen?”

“Seventeen next week.” 

“Christ, he’s got to start adding some more fibre to his diet. - Anyway, I don’t want to say anything mean about him if your sister’s, like, really in love with him. If she is, she might actually stick with him and then it’s just sort of embarrassing that I’ve talked shit about him. You know, in the long haul.” 

Louis smiled down at a crack in the pavement. “So you’re assuming I’ll keep you around for the long haul, huh?” 

“I’m not assuming anything. It’s just ‘what if’s.” He reached over, giving Louis’ waist a little squeeze. “Wouldn’t want to make you feel trapped, Tommo. Like you’ve got to settle down or anything. Buy a trailer-home and have seven kids.” 

Louis rolled his eyes, snorting, but it also made him think. Those bitter little inevitable thoughts that crept in whenever he looked at Harry and felt a little more than he knew would be good. Harry was nineteen. Harry was going to go off, look for bigger things, want something more out of life. At some point, even if he thought right now that this was enough, it wouldn’t be. And even if he would ever be willing to give those things up for Louis, Louis would never be willing to let him. 

He didn’t voice his worries, but Harry had to have noticed something in his face, because he asked, softly, “what’s on your mind, babe?” 

“I… nothing,” Louis looked down into the stroller where his son rustled, made a soft little sound and then went quiet again. He reached down, tugging Freddie’s blanket up a little. “Just enjoying a bit of peace and quiet.” 

Harry hummed in agreement and his hand came to rest on the small of Louis’ back as they walked. Louis took one hand off the handlebar of the stroller and moved it over to take Harry’s hand off of him, lacing their fingers together instead. Their joined hands swung easily back and forth between them in rhythm with their steps.

“You know,” Harry said after a bit, and when Louis looked at him, his eyes were on Freddie, “you’re so lucky to have such a lovely family. And such a lovely little kid.” 

Louis smiled, his eyes going to Freddie as well. “Yeah. Luckiest guy in the universe. Honestly.” 

“How is it?” Harry asked, “being a dad? Like, is it true what they say? That the moment you see the kid, it’s just like everything snaps into place? Like your entire life suddenly has meaning?” 

Louis took a moment to answer. “For most it is,” he said when he finally found his words, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who didn’t _love_ their kid – at least, in the sort of way that you do when you first hold them and _you’ve_ made them and they’re just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life and it’s just… you know… mind-blowing. But,” Louis shrugged, gazing out at darkened street before him, “but that’s really not enough.” 

“What do you mean?”

Louis glanced at Harry, who was watching him, wide-eyed and genuinely curious. 

He sighed, chewing on the question. “Enough is, like… like, when all the tough parts of parenthood become all right because you love the kid so much. When waking up in the middle of the night because the kid is screaming and never going out and never seeing your old friends and never _ever_ putting yourself first, is surmountable. When it’s like, completely okay with you, that you’d give up anything for the love that you have for your kid.” 

Harry’s thumb brushed lightly over Louis’ hand, back and forth in a soothing motion. 

“But for some people,” Louis continued, “the love that they have, even if it's genuine and it is there, it… it sort of doesn’t cover all of those things.” He gave a tender smile, reaching down to pet Freddie’ soft cheek. “For me, though, it’s never not unconditional. Not with Freddie, and, not with the others. It’s not really a question or a choice. The love’s just so far beyond enough that I’d give my whole life for them. Genuinely.” 

He could feel Harry’s eyes on the side of his face, but he didn’t look over. “Who was Freddie’s mum?” Harry asked after a bit. 

Louis smiled, a little, looking over at him then. “You’ve really strained to hold back on that one till now, haven’t you?” 

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” 

“No, it’s all right. It’s not… it’s not an open wound or anything. Not anymore.” 

“Were you in love with her?” 

And that- that was a good question. One he’d never fully been able to answer. “I loved her,” Louis replied, because that he was sure of. “I still do in some crazy way. She’s the mother of my child. I could never not love her for that.” 

Harry nodded. “But before... before Freddie?” 

“Before Freddie…” Louis sighed, “before I had Freddie, and before Niall came around, I… I was really quite lonely. I could talk to Lottie, but she wasn’t that old and it… it wasn’t the same, you know. But then I met Briana. She was sweet and caring and stable. I needed that love, you know. The nurturing kind, I guess. So at the time that was enough for me to look past anything else. Like, the fact that we probably weren’t that compatible at all – beyond the fact that she wasn’t a man. And then she got pregnant with Freddie and I felt so connected to her just for that. For wanting to carry my baby.” 

“So what happened?”

Louis chewed on his lip, going over the two words that’d been going on repeat in his head for months after she left. _What happened_? “She…” Until Louis had come to the conclusion that, “her love didn’t cover the tough parts. Not for the kids. Not for me. And…” but it still hurt to say it. He didn’t think it ever wouldn’t, “not for Freddie.”

It had to have been there in his voice, the hurt and the frustration and the _bitterness_ , because Harry squeezed Louis’ hand right then.

Louis sighed. “I mean, I get leaving me, but… Freddie. I’ll never get that. Never.” 

“I don’t get leaving you,” Harry said, so quickly it almost overlapped with the ending of Louis’ sentence. Harry looked at him, right in the eyes, piercing and trapping and so very serious, “I don’t get anyone leaving someone like you.” 

Louis’ insides lit on fire, his eyelashes fluttered and his ears flushed red. He couldn’t come up with anything better than exactly what he’d said the last time Harry had ambushed him like that; “oh, come off it.”

“Come off it yourself, loser,” Harry threw back, and Louis laughed because of the childish look on his face. Harry kicked at a stone on the pavement and muttered, “ugly sod.” 

“Just a terrible minger, me,” Louis said, chuckling lowly. He reached forward, nipping Harry in his cute little bum. “Hey, give us a kiss, will ya?” 

Harry turned to Louis, who had stopped mid-pavement. “You’re too ugly, though,” Harry said, but he was leaning closer and before Louis could reply they were kissing. Softly, slowly, both with one hand on Freddie’s stroller and the other’s locked together. When they finally pulled back, Harry’s lips were puffy and sore, his cheeks vaguely pink. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Louis said, petting his cheek. He wasn’t lying, he wasn’t joking and he wasn’t looking away. Fuck looking away when he could be looking at someone as gorgeous as Harry. 

“Thank you,” Harry smiled down at him, “thank you, babe.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis smiled back, widely, “compliments on the house, babe.” 

“Speaking of house; let’s head home, baby.” 

“Okay,” Louis turned the stroller around on the pavement, squeezing Harry’s hand, “okay, baby.” 

“What the fuck are you calling me ‘baby’ for, I was talking to Freddie, you sick fuck.” 

Louis punched him in the gut. He was horrible. Just horrible. 

 

*

Niall woke the morning after Chace’s visit, feeling empty. Not numb; he could very much still feel the sting of every word Lottie had thrown at him last night. He could very much still feel the twist of anxiety in his stomach when her eyes had switched from the ones that he knew, the ones that he considered family, to cold and strangerly. Hostile. He could very much still feel the hard lump that had settled in his throat, not letting go, not letting him eat or sleep or _think_. 

And yet, he still felt empty somehow.

As if when Lottie had left him sitting at the table last night, she’d ended more than just the conversation. As if all was said and done, and not just for the night. There was no going back now. She could tell him she was sorry, she could tell him she took it all back, but it wouldn’t change a thing because she’d still meant the words. They’d still been in her head, like a glass filled to the brim, ready to spill at the slightest nudge.

And now the glass was empty.

And Niall knew that it was time for him to leave. Not because he was angry. Not because he was hurt. But because Lottie had been right. 

 

As everyone was getting ready for school, Niall didn’t even look at her. Couldn’t. For once, it was nice to be crammed in such a small space with a bunch of loud-mouthed Tomlinson’s, because it made sure that nobody noticed the quietness between Niall and Lottie. 

Once everyone had left for school and Harry and Louis to the park with all the little ones, Niall was alone in the trailer. 

He began with doing the washing up. Polished every pan, rinsed every bowl. He swiped every surface, put every stray item back in its place. He made the beds, gave the floors a broom and even the toilet a quick scrub. He took a shower, dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans and fixed his hair. He had a buttered crumpet and a tea, then brushed his teeth over the sink and gave his chin a quick shave. 

Then he went to the livingroom and took the sheets off of his mattress. He put them in the laundry basket, the duvet and pillow in the closet, then folded up the floor-mattress and pushed it back under the big bed where he’d first found it. He gathered all of his clothes out of the laundry basket, stuffed them into the duffel-bag he lived out of and zipped it shut for the first time in ages.

He sorted some papers, just to ensure that no one got worried and came looking for him.

Then he took his phone, laced up his sneaks and slipped on his down jacket. He lifted the duffel-strap over his head, secured it diagonally across his chest and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. He opened the front door, took one last look over his shoulder and then left the Tomlinson-trailer-home. 

It was time to have something to show for himself. 

 

*

Lottie and Fizzy came to the park after school to take the little one’s home and then Harry and Louis drove to Harry’s place. Being completely honest, Louis would’ve much rather had a few hours to freshen up before his first solo night with Harry in ages, but as it was, he’d take what he could get. And what he could get tonight, if all went as planned, was bloody fucking _fucked_ already. 

Tonight there were no children. No Niall. No cock-blocking cell phones. No uncertainty as to whether the other was even up for it or not. 

Tonight, there was only Harry and Louis. And wine. 

“You really didn’t have to buy that for us,” Louis said, sitting on Harry’s kitchen counter and watching the lines in his strong back through his thin white t-shirt as he un-corked a bottle of red. “I’ll still let you fuck me even if I’m not off my head.” 

“Oh great, that’s just my luck, innit,” Harry exclaimed, “what the hell am I gonna do with all those roofies I bought, then.” 

Louis laughed, kicking him in the bum. 

Harry turned, resting one big hand on the edge of the counter by Louis’ knee and reaching up to open the kitchen cabinet on the other side of him. His t-shirt crept up as he reached, the V-lines at his pelvis showing. Louis dragged a finger across the naked skin, revelling in how it made Harry swallow so the nerves in his throat worked overtime. 

He grabbed two wine glasses, then stopped to peel Louis’ hand off of him and put it back in his own lap. “Have patience, Handsy. You don’t want to make this all over before even starts, do you?” 

Louis ignored him, linking his fingers through his front belt loops and tugging him close by the hips. “What, you’re afraid you can’t last if I touch you?” he murmured, nipping at the juncture of Harry’s jaw to make his breathing turn shallow.

“No, it was purely selfless, I promise,” Harry rasped, then proceeded to licking a fat wet stripe up the side of Louis’ neck, “you looked so hard up.” 

He stepped back before Louis could shove him, just getting in a shit-eating grin before he was facing away again, pouring wine into their glasses.

“Arse,” Louis muttered while wiping Harry’s spit off of his neck, as if his skin wasn’t burning like he’d been scorched where Harry licked him. To ensure Harry didn’t see right through him, or at least didn’t mock him out loud, Louis kicked him in the bum again. 

Unluckily, Louis had forgotten that he’d somehow, from one minute to another, been granted super ninja kicking-powers, because it all went south from there; Harry’s hips knocked against the counter, his forehead hitting the cabinet above it. He reached out to steady himself, resulting in his big hand knocking both wine-glasses into the sink and smashing them to pieces. As if that wasn’t disastrous enough, he’d also spilled half the bottle of dark red wine all over his white t-shirt.

“Shit!” Louis hissed, jumping off of the counter, “shit sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

He was cut off with an “oh _fuck_ no!” and then something being tossed in his face, blurring his vision for a moment. 

He stopped dead, wiping his eyes in confusion until he realised what it was; rest of the wine. 

Louis stared at Harry. Harry stared back, panting and laughing. 

“Oh, you want to play it like that?” Louis raised his brows in challenge, even though most of what he felt right then was relief that Harry wasn’t angry with him, “you want a fight?” he reached back, grabbing the first thing his hand touched, “I’ll give you a fight!” To his luck, it was olive oil. He uncapped the bottle quickly, then began squirting the filthy stuff at Harry. 

Harry retaliated by grabbing the wine bottle again and emptying the last drops of it down on Louis’ hair, trying to hold him in place by the back of his neck.

“Get off!” Louis screamed, laughing and slapping and trying to squirt more olive oil at him. 

Harry barked a laugh provocatively into his face, trying to muss the wine into his hair. 

Louis ended up dropping the olive oil to the floor in favour of fighting Harry with both hands, which then resulted in both of them skating around on the greased-up floor, trying to knuckle the other’s head and jab their heels into the pit of the other one’s knee. Harry was stronger, but Louis was quicker. Smarter. In the end he managed to make both those long gawky giraffe-legs give out. 

Harry fell to the floor, pulling Louis right with him. 

They tumbled down into a stinking fog of olive oil, and Harry was quicker then, jumping onto Louis and pinning him down. 

Louis swiped his palm across the floor, gathering enough oil to smear it all-over Harry’s forehead and into his long hair. 

Harry laughed down at him, breath coming out in little pants from exhaustion. His hair was greased over in a deep side part, all of it dangling down one side of his face, his face crinkling up everywhere with his hoarse barky laugh.

Louis wanted him so much he felt dizzy with it.

He opened his mouth to tell Harry to get the fuck off so he could gather his thoughts again, but before he could speak Harry had dipped down to press their lips together. He didn’t stay on Louis’ mouth long, moving along his jaw and further down his neck in quick, bitey kisses. 

Louis slung his legs around Harry’s waist, locking them and forcing his hips down against his own, wanting that thick hot pressure, wanting to feel him twitch and pulse and _grow_ , even if only through his jeans. 

Harry gave a hot-breathed moan against Louis’ neck at the friction, snapping his hips down over and over until he was just humping Louis through their trousers, desperately pushing off the floor with the balls of his feet. 

He stopped abruptly, sitting up to yank his t-shirt off by the back of his collar. Louis took in the lines of his torso, the tattoo’s contrasting his pale skin and the way hard muscle met soft boyish pudge at his hips. Harry reached down, unbuckling his belt in yanking impatient movements as he watched Louis watching him. His eyes were dark now, his lips wet from licking them over and over again. 

And Louis had to have him now. Had to have him fully. Last time he’d almost pleaded Harry. This time he wouldn’t even ask. 

He rolled onto his stomach, arching his back to tell Harry exactly what was going to happen. 

Judging from the appreciative moan and the hands going straight to the hem of Louis’ jeans, tugging them down his plump arse, Harry didn’t mind one bit. “Lube,” he grunted, draping himself over Louis to inch his hands around his waist and unzip his jeans. He pulled them down fully, together with Louis’ pants, stopping when they reached the mid of his thighs. “Condoms. Louis.” 

“Yeah,” Louis breathed, but he couldn’t fucking move. He was trapped, pinned face-first to the floor with Harry’s fat cock nested in the crevice of his arse. 

Harry didn’t make a move to get either of the items he’d just listed, and when his hand reached out, grabbing the half-empty bottle of olive oil on the floor, Louis didn’t have it in him to protest. Fuck it, then. 

Fuck me, now.

Harry fingered him sloppily, like he couldn’t wait to take them out the second he’d pushed them in. Like he’d die if he didn’t get his cock in within the next two minutes. 

“Fuck, come on, enough with that shit,” Louis hissed against the floor, growing impatient with each of Harry’s choked sounds panted against his shoulder. “Get _in_ me.” 

Less than five seconds later, Harry had pulled out his fingers, eased himself back on his knees and dragged Louis up onto his by his hips. “All fours,” he said, tapping Louis on the side of his thigh. 

Louis steadied himself up on his hands and then Harry’s cock-head was pressing at his rim, pushing forward persistently to breach his muscle. 

“Oh god,” Louis groaned, slumping down on his elbows, pressing his forehead against his own arm and arching his back further. “ _Shit_ … easy, baby.” Harry was big. Louis knew Harry was big. But he’d never _known_ it like he knew it right now, having him pushing in, breaching and stretching him where he hadn’t been in so long. “Easy, baby…” 

Harry made another choked sounding noise that could’ve been ‘okay’ or ‘of course’, Louis really wouldn’t know. Couldn’t fucking _think_. 

He had Harry on him then, torso blanketing his back and lips at his ear. “Fuck, you feel good,” Harry hissed, humping in another inch and making Louis groan down into his arms. 

“Arh, fuck- _shit_.” 

“You good?” Harry pressed a kiss behind Louis’ ear as he slowly bottomed out. “Babe?” 

Louis took a deep breath to steady himself, then lifted his mouth off where he’d bitten into his own arm and panted out, “fucking fantastic. Christ, you’re bloody ginormous.” 

Harry gave a breathy chuckle against his neck. “You can take it,” he said lowly, dragging his cock out halfway and pushing in again, “you like my big cock.” 

“So, _ungh_ , so…” Louis pushed onto his hands again, grinding back against Harry. He could hardly get a sentence out. The stretch was still right at the edge of too much. Then again, that was exactly how he liked it, “so fucking full of yourself,” he managed to finish. 

“So fucking full of me, you,” Harry groaned back, resting both his big hands by Louis’ on the floor, thumbs linking over Louis’ pinkie’s. “Can I fuck harder?” 

“ _Please_.” 

He pumped himself in and out of Louis fast, grunting and panting and moaning into his ear. He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed in again so hard they skated up the floor in the mess of olive oil. He did it again, fastening a strong arm around Louis’ stomach to keep him put. 

Harry was rough, pounding and biting and yanking and hair-pulling. Harry was handsy, touching Louis all over, searching his body frantically, like he had to make sure no place was left untouched, and stroking Louis’ cock until Louis shouted at him to stop or he’d come too soon. 

Most of all, Harry was loud. Vocal. So fucking filthy. 

By the time Louis absolutely couldn’t hold back one second longer, cheek pressed to the olive oil-smeared floor and arse in the air, Harry was cussing and swearing and _fuck_ , Louis got why he they couldn’t have done this in the trailer-home. 

Louis came hard, with Harry deep in him, the pressure on his spot so fucking perfect. Afterwards, his vision went blurry for a bit. His arms gave out, his body going limp and his arse tightening up. 

Harry’s arms snaked around him, one around his tummy and the other up and around his shoulder, pulling him close, pulling him back on his cock. Louis ended up in his lap, his back pressed against Harry’s torso and head thrown back on his shoulder. Harry thrusted once, twice, three times and then he started coming, deeply inside Louis. 

“Fucking hell…” he breathed, dropping his lips to Louis’ shoulder and kissing it wetly. “Louis…”

“Yeah…” 

They stayed close for a moment, coming down from their highs, panting and swearing and grinding into each other just a little bit more.

Slowly, Louis pulled himself off of Harry, crawling across the slippery floor and landing on his sore arse, resting back against a kitchen cabinet. 

“Fucking hell,” Harry said again, plopping onto his back, “have you _seen_ your arse from behind?” 

“When I twist far enough in the mirror, yes.” 

Harry sighed. “Well, you haven’t _felt_ it. Around your cock.” 

“Sadly, no.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t bring him into this. You know, because of purity and the bible and… stuff….”

Harry moved then, slowly dragging himself up to stand. “Don’t care.” He reached a hand down for Louis, pulling him up. “Let’s take a shower.”

They tried cleaning up the floor, grabbing a few kitchen-roll tissues and swiping them across the floors. When satisfied, they moved to the shower, or rather, dragged themselves out there. 

“Shampoo and balsam in one,” Harry said when they were standing in the cubicle. He pointed to a bottle in the corner, “and that’s shower gel over there.” 

Louis stood for a bit, just letting the warm rays rinse his spent body. He reached for the shampoo, but Harry grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“If it’s okay,” he mumbled, “can I wash your hair?” 

“Well,” Louis ran a hand through his short hair, “I don’t have very much of it. Won’t be as fun as washing your own.” 

“You have more than enough.” Harry raked his fingers through Louis’ hair, surging forward for a little kiss. “Please. I want to.” 

“Okay.” Louis dropped to his knees, letting Harry drive his long fingers over his scalp, feeling at his hair. He looked up, watching Harry as he scrubbed the lathering shampoo into his hair and then proceeded to rinsing it out. His skin was white, his long hair almost black in its wetness, clinging to the sides of his face. His lips were almost burgundy-looking and puffy. He was beautiful, and not just because Louis liked him. He just was, no matter how you looked at it, no matter what you felt about him. He was undeniably gorgeous.

Louis didn’t say as much. Maybe he should, but he couldn’t quite get the words over his lips. 

“Thanks,” he said instead, getting up to stand again when Harry was done rinsing out the shampoo, “was nice…”

He turned, drawing circles in the fog accumulating on the glass-wall framing the shower-cubicle. 

“Uhm.” Harry stepped closer, something in his voice stirring Louis’ bones when he said, “Louis?” 

“Yeah?” 

The damp little shower-cubicle went quiet for a moment, nothing but the sound of water drumming on the tiles between their feet. 

“You’ve got come running down the back of your thigh.” 

Louis groaned, shoving a cackling Harry off of him. “Way to ruin the moment, arsehole.” 

“My babys!” Harry screamed, voice high-pitched and childish. “My babys are running down your leg, Lou-eh! Stop them, they’re getting away. Lou- _ey_!” 

“Yeah, I’m just going to get out of here before I regret having sex with you entirely.” 

They dried off alongside each other, obviously slapping each other’s arses with the towels in the process. Harry lent Louis a toothbrush and a too-long-sleeved shirt and some pyjama trousers that pooled around his feet as he padded across the floors. Louis watched him as he bopped around his little flat, closing windows and flicking off lights, the sounds of it calming and homely. By the time Harry finally came to bed, Louis had almost dozed off. 

“Night, babe.” 

“Night. Sleep well.” 

But of course, they didn’t sleep. 

Within minutes, cuddling wasn’t enough anymore and soon Harry was fucking Louis with his sleeve-covered arms pinned above his head, the pyjama trousers tossed somewhere around the telly. 

They fell asleep soon after that, exhausted and covered in cum.

Around three am, Louis woke for no reason. Well, maybe it was Harry rubbing off against his arse in his sleep and grunting cutely into his neck. 

Louis woke him by stroking his cock and muttering obscenities in his ear. Harry retaliated by pushed his face into the mattress and fucking him silent. 

After that, Louis slept soundly through the night.

 

*

He woke the next day, his body spent and bruised and sore in the best way possible. It’d been too long since he’d been manhandled, fucked to pieces and called every filthy name in the book, and then held for hours after by strong warm arms. It’d been forever since he’d felt this safe letting someone take him and take away every bit of control from him. 

When he woke around ten pm, Harry was snoring softly, puffy morning-face rested on Louis’ chest and his hand curled around one of Louis’ collarbones. They’d both had enough vigorous fucking last night to last them at least a week.

Except they hadn’t, and Harry hoisted Louis up against the shower-wall and fucked him, and then later bent him over the kitchen-counter when he was supposed to make tea. 

“Jesus fuck,” Louis sighed, lying down on Harry’s bed with a cup of tea he’d finally been allowed to actually finish making. “Your stamina’s just incredible.” 

“Yoga,” Harry said, lying down beside him. 

Louis linked a foot over his shin, brushing his heel against Harry’s leg-hairs. “You don’t do yoga.” 

“Do so,” Harry stretched his foot backwards to tickle the underside of Louis’ with his toes, “every other morning.” 

“That why you’ve got such an elegant way about you?” Louis turned his head lazily, grinning at Harry, “that why you walk like a summer-breeze?”

“You’re ugly in the morning,” Harry replied, smiling back at him. 

Louis glanced at his phone. “If by morning you mean one pm, then yes, yes I’m ugly.” 

Harry chuckled, then put his tea down to grab the remote and flick on the telly, wrapping his other arm around Louis’ so he could rest his head on Harry’s shoulder. “’Time was your shift today?” 

“Three. Got to have a shower again now, since you’ve just gone and fucked me sweaty again.” 

Harry nuzzled into his hair, humming lowly, “you loved it.” 

“Hm,” Louis huffed. 

Harry bit the shell of his ear and then looked back at the telly, relaxing with a long sigh. “I’ll drive you to work. Can’t have you waggling all the way down the street.” 

Louis elbowed him in the flank. Harry just laughed and pulled him closer. 

 

It was when they were just pulling on their seatbelts, about to drive Louis to work, that Louis’ phone went off. 

“It’s Fiz. Better take it. Hope no one’s died on her watch.” He accepted the call with a breezy, “sup, Pup?” 

“Christ, we know you got fucked, you don’t have to practically scream it through the phone,” Fizzy replied dryly.

“ _Aaaaaanyway_ \- what are you calling for? You never ever call me.” 

“No, because you always ask who died first thing I do.” 

“Well, last you called me you’d killed that old lady’s cat and then-”

“Shut up, I’m trying to tell you something.” 

Louis sighed, rolling his eyes. “Well, spit it out, then.” 

“Niall’s gone. Lottie and I couldn’t go to school because he was gone and Lottie’s gone mad, sobbin’ and shit, don’t ask me why. And don’t even get me started on fucking Freddie.”

“Wait what?” Louis signalled for Harry not to pull out of the parking lot yet. “Say again? Where’s Niall?” 

“ _He is gone_. Left. Packed up and skipped town, I guess. And Freddie’s being a fucking arsehole, like, we get it, you’re a baby, but have you got to make _everything_ about you?” 

“Niall _left_?” 

Louis glanced over at Harry, biting his nail.

“Yeah,” Fizzie said, “upped and left. Gone.” 

“ _Gone_?”

“Yes, he fucking _left_ , what part do you not understand, you thick twat?!” 

Slowly, Louis let the phone slide down his face. “Niall’s left,” he said, still trying to process his own words as he spoke, “He’s skipped town, I think.” 

“The fuck...” Harry said, dragging a hand across his mouth. Suddenly, his eyes went wide, his head snapping up. “Wait, wasn’t he holding half of our coke?” 

“Yes. Yes he was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have created a Tumblr with the help of some lovely people on here, and i have made the blog 'pointerbrotherblog' where I have made a rebloggable link in a post with this story. Hope that made sense.
> 
> Anyway, if anyone knows of any active popular Tumblr blogs where you can submit your own fic's so they can rec it if they want, you are welcome to tell me of them :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to note that Frank is Louis' boss at the fish n chips shop, hence the name Frank's Fish n Chips. I don't know if it's just me being stupid, but i didn't want to risk people getting confused like 'who the fuck is frank' while reading. So yeah, that's him. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

“I just don’t get it. I just don’t know what the fuck would compel him to just – no forewarning, no explanation, no _nothing_ -”

“No,” Harry agreed, "no."

He’d just calmly survived Louis having a hysteric hissy fit in the van, stomping his feet and punching the dashboard till his knuckles went numb. How, Louis wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything about anyone right now. 

Well, he _was_ sure that he was running late for work. And that Fizzy and Lottie couldn’t miss more school than they already had – well, Fizzy couldn’t anyway.

And Niall was gone. 

“Hey. Lou.” Harry slipped a hand around the back of his neck, scratching lightly at his hair. “I’ll go babysit.” 

“No," because, just- "no, Harry this isn’t your responsibility, I can’t just ask you to-”

“Louis,” and his voice came out so unusually stern that Louis couldn’t help but look up. “You’re not _asking_ me anything. I'm offering to do it for you. I _want_ to do it for you..” 

Louis glanced at the clock on Harry’s radio, then sighed and said, “okay.” Wasn’t like he had much of a choice anyway.

“Okay,” Harry echoed, pinching his cheek, “okay. I’ll try and check where Niall’s stuffed the coke. I’m sure he hasn’t just run off with it. He wouldn’t do that. Would he?” 

“No.” Louis shook his head vehemently, thinking if his body looked convinced maybe his brain would follow suit sooner or later. “No, he wouldn’t do that. No.”

 

All throughout the workday, Louis had one eye on his phone. Zayn even had to tap his shoulder a couple times to remind him he had costumers waiting. If it’d been anyone other than Zayn working the counter with him that day, Louis would’ve probably been snitched out to the boss and subsequently fired. Luckily, Zayn was smart enough to notice when Louis needed some extra string and decent enough not to ask why. 

He did however, neglect to remind Louis that they were having an after-hours surprise ten-year-anniversary party for the boss that exact day. 

At least not until the very last minute.

“Where the hell are you going?” he asked, when Louis had dragged his coat halfway over his shoulder and hurried toward the exit. “The guys’ll be here with the booze and cake in ten.” 

“What?” Louis stopped dead in the door. “What are you talking about?” 

“Frank.” 

“What about him?”

“It’s tonight, for fucks sake! Frank’s party!” 

And then, memory clicked. Two secret meetings, masses of update texts that he hadn’t bothered opening, and five quid for the shared present that Louis couldn’t afford chipping in with. All leading up to tonight. 

And Louis couldn’t skip out. 

Not when he’d missed Frank’s birthday party thing last November with no proper excuse (unless watching footie through a shop-window with the fam would do – hint; it wouldn’t). Not when he’d gotten so drunk at the Christmas party that he’d puked in the coffee-maker. Not when he’d accidentally insulted Frank’s new expensive hair-plugs just the other day. No, he had to stay. There was no way out of it, unless ‘out of it’ meant out of the job entirely. And as with most of what motivated Louis to do things in life, he just simply couldn’t afford that.

Louis dipped out into the backroom, dialling Harry.

He picked up on the first ring. “Hello, it’s Harreeh, how are youuu...” 

“Hi, christ, _shit_ , I totally forgot, there’s this thing tonight and I can’t miss it,” Louis blurted, so fast it hardly made sense to his own ears.

“Wha’?” 

“There’s this party I have to go to. Tonight.”

The other end went silent for a while. That wasn’t to say that Harry had a particularly well thought-out response when he finally did speak; “’scuse me, _wha_ ’?” 

“There’s this party thing that I cannot miss. Haz, I’m so sorry-”

“Party _thing_?” 

“Yes,” and then Louis finally realised how stupid it sounded, “no, I mean, no, not like a going-out party. Not like- it’s just, my boss has this anniversary thing and he’ll probably end up firing me if I don’t at least show me face. I really want to come straight home, but-”

“Oh all right,” Harry interrupted, his voice suddenly soft, “no, all right, that makes sense.” 

Louis nodded at his own reflection in a mirror, chewing on one of his nails. “How are the kids? Have you heard from Niall?” 

“Good, and no. Fiz and Lot are doing some homework, I think, or at least they said they were before they stole my laptop. And the little ones are down. But I haven’t heard shit from Niall. And I haven’t seen the coke anywhere, but I didn’t want to, like, go through all your drawers before you were home. And Lottie’s been all mopey and wouldn’t say why, and you know Fizzy, she couldn’t be bothered with anything, so…” 

“All right. All right. Thank you so much, H, you have no idea how much this-”

“Shut up. Go party. Don’t get drunk. Pick you up in an hour.” He hung up then. 

 

The party started out all right. The male employee’s brought booze, snacks and friends, and the female ones brought a professionally frosted cake and skimpy dresses. Zayn cranked up the volume on the wall-speakers behind the counter and plugged his phone in. Smooth R&B immediately filled the room, making everyone feel like they were about to be lathered up in oil and stuffed with rose pedals and cock.

Someone unplugged Zayn’s phone, thank fuck, and put on some proper music. 

A couple of girls, who’d somehow found out about Louis’ sexuality, were giggling and ranting to him about guys and George Michael and _ohIjustloooooovegayguysthey’rethecuuuutest_ , until Zayn saved him by yelling “oi, you! Fag in the corner! Quit snatching the birds and come help me with the gift table!” 

There was no gift table. The girls could easily see that from across the room, but honestly, Louis didn’t give a flying-

“Chuck! Great you could make it!” 

A guy in a grey blazer, who looked around the same age as Frank, but significantly more well-kept, had just arrived. Two men who were pretty just less attractive versions of him came walking in with him. 

“I was beginning to fear it’d just be staff and none of Frank’s actual friends,” Zayn said, giving the guy’s quick handshakes. 

“Oh please,” Chuck said, waving a hand out dismissively, “Frank doesn’t have any actual friends.” 

“True,” one of the other guys agreed, “we’re just here for the free drinks.” 

Zayn shrugged. “Well,” he said, stepping aside to point toward the shop-counter which was now serving as bar/free alcohol stand, “have at it.” 

Louis slipped off along the wall, not wanting to grab too much attention. Knowing himself right, he’d end up on a table having someone take shots out of his armpit if he didn’t keep a low profile. Louis didn’t party much at all, if ever, but on the rare occasion that he did, he partied hard. He couldn’t do that now. He couldn’t become indispensable to the other guests if he wanted any chance to get to leave in less than an hour without someone making a big deal out of it in front of Frank. 

So he spent a significant amount of time mapping out every inch of the walls with his back, clutching an untouched beer just for show. 

All went fine. All went fine except for one itty bitty tiny little detail; Frank. 

Thirty minutes into the ‘party’, he still hadn’t shown. His ‘friend’, Chuck, kept announcing that Frank had just texted him about forgetting to pick up his dry-cleaning or having to stop by the bank or getting stuck behind a fucking tractor on the highway. Not that anyone really cared. If Louis knew most of staff right, none of them really gave a shit whether Frank even showed at all, so long as there was booze. 

Forty-five minutes in, people were tipsy. Woozy. Some even drunkish. 

And Frank was still nowhere to be seen. 

“’Nother one?” someone asked, tapping Louis’ shoulder. 

Louis glanced down into the beer that he’d slowly drained without even noticing. He was sitting on a table that’d been pushed up against a wall, back against said wall and legs stretched out, feet dangling freely. 

“Uhm,” he looked up to see who’d asked him. Grey blazer, a closed-lipped smile and crinkles around his deep-set brown eyes. “Chuck, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, handing Louis a beer without waiting to hear if he wanted it. He gestured at the table with his own beer, “care to make room for an elder citizen?”

Louis cackled, moving over so the older man could take a seat beside him. 

“Elder citizen?” Louis glanced at his full head of hair. Either he hadn’t gone grey yet or someone had done an amazing job at dying them gone. “Don’t quite think you can pull that card just yet, mate.” 

Chuck chuckled, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. “Maybe not.” 

“ _Middle-aged_ citizen, maybe,” Louis offered, watching Zayn try and chat up a pair of twins across the room, “don’t know how much of a discount that gets you on the tube, though.” 

“Nah, me neither,” Chuck replied, and his eyes were on the side of Louis’ face now, “how old are you? If you don’t mind me asking?” 

Louis looked down into his beer. Too old too soon. “Too young for you to be chatting me up,” was what he said, smiling cheekily at the older man. 

“Right.” Chuck returned the smile, caught. “That obvious, am I?” 

“Terribly.” Louis winked at him and pushed off the table then, handing him back the beer he wasn’t going to drink. 

He’d have to call Harry and let him know that Frank still hadn’t arrived. He felt terrible at the idea of Harry staying up just to be on call to pick Louis up, but he wasn’t stupid enough as to think that Harry would let him walk home alone either. 

“Nice chatting to you, then,” Chuck said as Louis brushed the crinkles off his pants.

“You too,” Louis grinned, “happy hunting.” 

The older man rolled his eyes, lifting his beer at Louis, toasting to his words, and Louis left him there, drinking alone.

He walked into the back room and found two of his colleagues dry-humping on the dishwasher. The gentleman that he was, Louis slipped into the restroom to give them a bit of privacy.

Harry didn’t pick up on the first ring. Louis threw him a text. ‘ **boss is late. got to stay for nother hour or so. Sorry <3**’

He was just slipping his phone back in his pocket, when someone opened the door. He’d left it ajar when he walked in, but it didn’t seem like an accident when Louis saw the face of the person opening it. 

“Oh,” Louis said, playing oblivious, because what else could he do? “Sorry. I’m finished here. All yours.” 

Chuck gave him a knowing once-over, like he knew they both knew what he wanted. Well, he wasn’t going to get it. 

“Sorry,” Louis muttered, inching past him. Halfway out of the door, his wrist was grabbed, not tightly, but tightly enough that it made him turn halfway round. “What?” 

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe a sly comment. Maybe something more direct. Maybe being pushed up against the wall. What came out of Chuck’s mouth made his jaw lock tight; “you know Barry?” 

“ _What_?” His voice came out weak, breathier than anything. 

“Barry Croft. Hangs around the Balteau a lot. Comb-over… fake tan,” Chuck smiled, “ _minted_.” 

Louis stood stuck in his spot, staring at the man in front of him. He didn’t reply. Not because he didn’t know what Chuck was on about. Not because he didn’t remember Barry Croft. Not because he didn’t know exactly why he was being brought up this very moment. 

But he’d almost managed to forget.

“Old school friend of mine,” Chuck continued, when neither had spoken for several seconds. His hand slipped past Louis’ waist, pulling the doorhandle behind him to close the door. He didn’t back up again when he’d done so. He stayed close. “He mentioned you.” His sharp spearmint-breath stung Louis’ eyes. “You really are every bit as sexy as he said.” 

“Well.” Something was tightening in his chest, moving up through the base of his throat. “I don’t do that anymore.” 

“No?” Chuck’s hand came to rest on the side of Louis’ face, thumb moving over his cheekbone. The skin of his palm felt rough against Louis’. “You sure you can’t be tempted?” 

Louis shook his head at the ground, but Chuck stepped in closer, one foot between both of Louis’. He bit at Louis’ collarbone, gently, licked up the side of his neck, and it shot through Louis’ veins. Repulsion. Too many hands, too much skin on skin, too many old men, _too_ fucking old. Too many sleazy hotel rooms, too many showers. Scrubbing till his skin went red. Scratch-marks, hickeys and sore spots that made him want to puke when he saw himself in the mirror. Too fucking young then. 

Still.

“Five-hundred,” Chuck grabbed Louis’ hand, placed it on his bulge, “five-hundred if you let me have you for the night.” 

_Five-hundred_. Enough for shoes. Enough for a month’s worth of food. Maybe enough to survive. “No,” Louis said, shaking the thoughts out of his head. No. “I said I don’t do that anymore.” 

“Okay,” Chuck said, but he wasn’t moving off of Louis. He took Louis’ hand again, pushed it down his pants where his cock was growing hard and Louis wanted to punch him, but he didn’t. He wanted to kick him off and tell him to take his money and go to hell, but he didn’t. When Chuck told him, “get me off right here and I’ll give you a hundred and fifty”, he still didn’t leave. Couldn’t move.

It felt selfish to say yes and it felt selfish to say no. It felt exactly as it had back then, and worse.

Chuck pushed closer and Louis pressed his head back against the door, wanting his own space back, but there wasn’t any left. His hand was being rubbed forcefully up and down the cock of a man who was old enough to be his dad and it wasn’t the first time, not even the tenth, but he’d never grow numb to it. He’d never not feel disgusted with himself.

“Hundred and fifty if you let me fuck your mouth,” Chuck said against his neck, reaching up to prod his rough-skinned thumb at Louis’ lips. “I’ll be quick, I promise.” 

And it was easy as that, wasn’t it? Get on his knees, open his mouth, cover his teeth and let a man get off in his mouth. Five minutes on his knees and a hundred and fifty in his hands. 

It was easy as that. Hating himself again. 

“No,” Louis found the handle and almost fell out of the door, “no, I - _no_.” 

He pushed past the staff-members fucking on the dishwasher, needing to get out, needing to breathe. He stumbled outside, through puddles in the dark and out onto the main street, and-

And he’d never been so fucking happy to see that rusty old minivan in his life.

“Shit, sorry, I just saw your text,” Harry said when Louis ripped the door open and jumped into the passenger seat.

“S’all right,” Louis muttered. His heart was punching at his ribcage. “Let’s just go.” 

“You all right? You seem a little-”

“Fine,” Louis forced a smile, leaning in to peck Harry’s lips as if to prove his point.

“But, did your boss arrive yet? Didn’t you say you had to make an appearance or?” 

“Harry, please.” It came out pleading, and it was. Louis’ skin crawled where Chuck’s lips had touched him. “Just take me home.” 

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying Louis for a second, but he didn’t object. He pulled out onto the road and slipped a big warm hand onto Louis’ thigh, giving it a light squeeze. “Kids are asleep,” he said, “toddlers are in the big bed, but I can just sleep at my own place. Don’t want to roll over and squash one of them while I’m sleeping. Imagine the headlines,” he chuckled. 

Louis didn’t have it in him to fake a laugh. 

He wanted to tell Harry to stay the night with him. Wanted to tell him that he needed him. That he needed to be reminded again what it felt like to have someone touch him and have it feel good. 

But Chuck’s phantom-hands on him still made him feel like he might scratch his own skin off. So all he ended up saying was, “yeah okay,” and, “think I’m just going to take a long shower and go to sleep anyway.” 

But in bed, hours later, after he’d scrubbed and rubbed and scratched at his skin to make it feel like his own again, Louis didn’t sleep. Louis didn’t sleep at all that night.


	15. Chapter 15

It was strange waking up in the trailer with no Niall there. Sure, he’d slept elsewhere from time to time while he’d lived at Louis’, but this was different. His mess of a duffel-bag wasn’t tripping Louis as he stepped out of bed. His things weren’t on the floor, framing his mattress like a fence to keep people from stepping on him. And, well, his mattress wasn’t there at all. Stripped off of its stinky sheets, folded up and stuffed under the bed. It felt wrong. Like tea without milk. Like a bed without a pillow. Like an old family photo with one face cut out. 

Most of all, it felt quiet. 

Louis had gotten so used to the constant machinegun-laughter streaming from Niall, sort of like a soundtrack for the home. Now that he wasn’t here anymore Louis could actually hear his own thoughts for once. He didn’t like it.

“I’m calling in sick today,” he told Fizzy as he sat down on the kitchen counter, feeding Freddie his bottle. 

He’d tried telling Lottie first, since Fizzy didn’t give a fuck anyway, but Lottie wouldn’t listen. She just kept this blank stare, like nothing anyone could say would get through to her. Louis tried asking her if she was hungry, if she was coming down with something or if she just needed to talk. Every time, she just shook her head and said ‘no, I’m fine’ in the same scary toneless way. Louis wasn’t stupid. He knew that the word ‘fine’, especially coming out of a girl’s mouth, - especially coming out of _Lottie’s_ mouth - didn’t mean ‘fine’. But he also knew that it wouldn’t get more ‘fine’ by constantly nagging her about it. So he let her be. He’d nag her tomorrow, maybe. 

“I have to look around for Niall’s coke and the money. He’s got to have left it here somewhere. If not, I’m going to have to track him down, get it from him and then break his neck,” Louis continued.

Fizzy nodded. “Sounds fair,” she mumbled around a mouthful of cornflakes. 

Lottie pushed out of her chair then. “I’m leaving.”

“But school doesn’t start for another hour.” 

“Then I’ll wait outside school till they open.” She slung her bag over her shoulder, jacket over the other and then she was out of the door. 

Yeah. Louis would definitely have to nag her tomorrow. 

He started his search when Fizzy and the twin girls had left for school. 

He pulled every box, every spare mattress and every bag of summer clothing out from under the bed; nothing. He ripped out every cup, every plate and every hidden little money-stash from the cabinets; nothing. He checked every nook and cranny of the loft bed. He looked under every carpet. He looked behind the radiators, the toilet, the bathroom sink pipe. He even went so far as to walk outside, lie down on the asphalt and check under the entire fucking trailer. 

Nothing. Nada. Not a penny, not a gram of fucking flour. Nothing. 

 

When Fizzie came home from school, Louis had been lying in the big bed with all the little ones, staring at one spot in the ceiling for two hours straight. He still hadn’t reached the point of anger yet. It should be quite alarming for him, considering he usually blew up like a freaking bomb within seconds of something aggravating happening. But now, there was no one to blow up on, no one to try and explain their reasons. There was no explanation. Well, except for the one he still couldn’t wrap his head around, at least not if he wanted to ever trust again; that Niall had just taken off with it. That the only other adult he’d ever trusted since Briana, _really_ trusted, had just proved to him that he’d been a fucking idiot for doing so.

“Lots got sent home from school today,” Fizzy said. 

“Huh…” 

“Louis,” Fizzy jumped down beside him on the bed, making the mattress bounce, but it wasn’t quite enough to jolt him out of his trance. “ _I said_ , Lottie got sent home from school today.” 

Finally, Louis had it in him to rip his gaze off the spot in the ceiling. “She got what?” 

“Sent home. She was refusing to partake in group work and then she wouldn’t even get up when the teacher told her to go solve something on the board, I think. So, when she didn’t respond to anything, eventually, they sent her home.” 

“How do you know all this?” 

“Chace told me. I bumped into him. He asked me what the hell was up with her and I told him ‘what the hell is up with _you_ , she’s _your_ fucking girlfriend, go after her, you big great dirtbrain’. And so he ran after her and I haven’t seen either of them since.” 

Louis dragged a heavy hand across his face, closing his eyes with a long sigh. “Brilliant.” 

“Yup.” Fizzy left him to it, heading off to take her usual afterschool-nap. 

Louis went about feeding the little ones, taking them out for a walk, mostly to clear his own head, and then came back and plopped right back into bed. Freddie fell asleep and the toddlers waddled off to play with Phoebe and Daisy, who’d arrived home in the meantime, thank fuck. 

Louis wasn’t sure when or how, but at some point he managed to doze off. 

It was dark out when he woke, rain tapping lightly on the window above his bed. Doris was lying on his legs, playing with his phone and Ernest was pulling at her hair, whining ‘my turn! My turn, Dosis!’ 

“Time s’it?” Louis groaned, hauling himself up and leaning over the edge of the bed to check on Freddie. 

“Quarter past ‘you missed dinner’,” Fizzy replied from where she was leant over the kitchen sink, scrubbing a plate. “No, don’t worry, your left-over’s are in the fridge.” 

“Thanks, love.” Louis rubbed at his eyes, stretching so the joints in his back cracked. He picked Freddie up, sensing someone needed a nappy change, and headed over to pull out the ironing board/changing table. 

That was when Fizzy poked his shoulder and said, “oh by the way. We found Niall’s coke and that.”

It hit him like an unwarranted slap across the face, hard and incomprehensible. “ _What_?!” 

“We found it,” Fizzy repeated, as if she genuinely thought he hadn’t heard the first time. “All of it. He’d stashed it behind a loose tile in the shower. Like, right behind where the shower-head’s hooked up.” 

“What?! What loose tile?! I didn’t even know you could unhook the shower-head!” 

“No, because no one ever needs to.” Fizzy smiled, pointing behind her, and Louis hadn’t even noticed till then; Lottie was sitting at the dining table, hair in a towel turban and housecoat on. She was staring down at the table, still lost in her own little world. Before her lied a bag of coke, an envelope with money sticking out of it and a little post-it note with a few words scribbled on it. “Except for Lottie,” Fizzy finished, “she always takes the showerhead down to masturbate with it.” 

Lottie didn’t even throw a plate at her, didn’t even tell her to shut the fuck up. Whatever was wrong with her, was worse than he’d thought. 

Louis strode across the room, sliding a hand onto her shoulder, but she immediately shrugged out of it. “I’m going to bed,” she muttered, taking the yellow post-it note with her. 

“Hey, but, eh - what’s on that note?” 

“He’s all right,” Lottie said without turning as she began climbing the latter. “But he’s not coming back.” 

“Did he say why?” 

“Wanted to find something to show for himself,” Lottie replied, and when Louis asked what she meant, she didn’t reply. 

Louis turned back to the table, grabbing the bag of coke and the money-envelope. He looked it all through, making sure the right amounts were left. They were. Every single gram, every single penny. It was there.

“I knew he hadn’t done that,” Louis said through his smile as he re-counted the money over and over. It wasn’t a lie, not deep down. That’d probably been why Louis hadn’t been able to blow his fuse when he’d begun thought Niall might’ve taken their stuff; he didn’t really ever believe it. Even if Louis couldn’t trust Niall, at least with sticking around, he could trust him with not being the type of person who’d leave a family of seven in potential life-threatening danger just for the sake of a bag of coke and some money. As little as that was, it counted for something. 

“Obviously,” Fizzy said, as if she’d never been uncertain at any point. And, come to think of it, she hadn’t. “There’s only one scenario in which that bleach-headed idiot would’ve stolen from us, Lou,” she said, “and that’s if he forgot he had the stuff in his bag and only realised once he’d already left. In which case he would’ve come back with it immediately. It’s not necessarily because he loves us; it’s just the way that he functions. Stealing wouldn’t have crossed his mind. He’s stupid, but he’s not stupid enough not to know that he’d be too stupid to get away with it.” 

Louis nodded at her, eyes narrowing slightly. She was right. She was also, “how’d you get to be so wise? Aren’t you like, twelve?” 

“Hey,” she swiped her thumb over a tiny drizzle of coke that’d escaped the bag, then licked it clean, “I get straight A’s, thanks for asking. Don’t underestimate me just because I’m beautiful.” 

In his newfound state of elation, Louis decided to ignore the fact that he just watched a twelve-year-old eat coke.

He turned, grabbed Doris and Ernest and spun them around in the air to make them giggle, bathed them in coke-money and then spent five minutes trying to get Doris to spit out the money-bill she’d stuffed in her mouth. Oh, well.

Then he called up Harry. There was no reply. He called up Niall. Obviously no reply. He called up Zayn, then realised that he probably shouldn’t involve more people than strictly necessary in his coke-deal and ended the call before it was replied to. He called up Harry again with no reply, then sent him a text instead, ‘ **coke-moneeey found!!! We r saved!!! So fckin horny!!!** ’ and then, ‘ **horny*** ’ and then, ‘ **happy* fucks sake** ’, and lastly ‘ **and also a little horny actually. Pick up your phone soon and ill let u do that thing I didnt let u last!!!** ’

That night, Louis slept sound and happy, his two toddlers pressed to his chest and a bag of coke stuffed safely under his mattress. 

 

*

 

The next day, Louis didn’t have any work-shifts. He called up Harry again, seeing as they needed to revive their coke-selling plan now that Niall had bailed on them. There was still no reply. No new messages. 

And that was just great. Brilliant. Ironic, really. Right as things were starting to fall back into place, someone (fate or Harry or a diabolical combination) decided it shouldn’t be so well. 

“I’m sick and tired of this bullshit,” Louis complained to Fizzy, who was staying home from school because she ‘felt a little uneasy after that white stuff she ate off the table last night, and oh, Louis wouldn’t want her to get sick at school and have to explain what she’d eaten to the teachers, would he now?’. “I get that he’s young and hasn’t got seven kids and that, but you know what? I didn’t fucking ask him to force his way into my life. It’s common curtesy to pick up someone’s calls and texts when you’ve been dating for a while. At the very least, he’s my partner in crime – which is his fucking fault _as well_. He’s holding the other half of the coke, for fucks sake.” 

“Louis-”

“I mean, I’m not even being selfish or anything. It’s not just about me. It’s as much about the business end of things. We’ve got to-”

“ _Louis_!” Fizzy repeated, this time so loud that Freddie started whimpering. 

“What, why, what are you yelling for?” Louis hissed, picking the Freddie out of his crib to cradle him to his chest and shush him. 

Fizzy slung both legs over the edge of the loft bed, where she’d lying all day. She made the jump from the bed to the floor without even having to bend her knees at impact, then sauntered over and jumped up on the dining table, before she said, for the third time, “Louis,” and then, “you’re such a _fucking_ pussy.” 

“I beg your pardon?” He felt inclined to add a stern ‘young lady’ for parental purposes, but decided against it. Lost cause, anyway.

Fizzy folded both her hands together, sighed and smacked her lips as if she were about to give him a major life lesson. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, brother. You, sir, are a major fucking pussy.” 

“ _Fizzy_!” 

“A pussy of the worst kind. You let yourself get fucked by the cock, but you don’t do enough kettlebell-exercises to be able to grab onto that cock and make it stay once it’s finished its business.” 

“Fizzy, you are twelve years old, you cannot-”

“Louis, you are twenty-one-years old and a father,” Fizzy interrupted, jumping off the table, “pull your sorry pussy-arse together and get the fuck off it. Turn off your phone and do it the old-fashioned way,” she crouched down before him, resting both hands on his knees, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should be scolding her right now, but he was too curious to stop her mid-sentence, “go to his house, Louis,” she said, “pin him in a corner and tell him to make up his fucking mind. And if he can’t, then tell him to hand over his half of the coke and not to call you again until he’s decided whether he wants to be a man or just another useless flake.” 

“But-”

“No. Get off your arse and stop being such a horrible spineless role model, you pussy!” 

“Stop calling me that!”

“Stop making me have to!” 

 

He left when Lottie arrived home, leaving her with the little ones. She still seemed off her game, but she promised she wouldn’t suddenly run off and leave them alone with Fizzy.

Louis walked all the way to Harry’s place. That was sort of the downfall of Harry being his main lift around town; when he wasn’t there, Louis had to retreat to old, lesser ways. Call him spoiled, but he’d sort of gotten used to that rusty old minivan. 

When he saw it parked outside Harry’s building that evening, he felt a rush of relief. As if somewhere, in the back of his mind, there’d been a fear that Harry had skipped town as well. If Niall could, why couldn’t he? It seemed everyone but Louis had no problem running off and never looking back. 

But there it was, rusty and old and a minivan, parked in its usual spot. 

Louis took the stairs two steps at a time, so that when he finally reached Harry’s doorstep, he could attribute his racing heart to that and nothing else. That move was invalidated, though, by the fact that took him a full minute to muster up the courage to actually knock the door. He wasn’t scared, but he wasn’t _not_ either. He was just… unsure. Unsure of what he’d find and unsure whether he’d wish that he hadn’t once he did. 

The door creaked open after an additional two minutes. Louis had heard the heavy footsteps reaching up to it a full minute before. So Harry was nervous too. 

“Louis. What are you doing here?” he drawled as he opened the door, just enough that Louis could see his face. His beautiful face. 

Just like that, every bit of pent up anger, every bit of irritation and every sentence in the pre-rehearsed speech Louis was going to give him about mutual respect, evaporated in the air between them. 

Harry looked… awful. 

His hair was pulled back, little curls popping out around his face. He had deep dark bags under his eyes and his lips looked frayed, like he’d been biting them till they bled and then some more. 

“I came looking for you,” Louis said, shook. 

“Well,” Harry’s gaze rolled down to the floor and he swallowed, the nerves in his pale throat working all the way from collarbones, “I’m here.” 

“What’s wrong?” It came out before Louis could stop it, but he didn’t regret it because he needed to know. “Harry, you look absolutely awful.” 

Harry huffed, this dry little noise, trying to make it a joke. It wasn’t. “Thanks, man, nice seeing you too.” 

“Shut up, Harry, I mean it. What’s the matter with you?” 

Harry bit his torn lip and Louis wanted to reach out and tug his teeth away, kiss it better and make him normal again. Make him Harry again. “Louis… I’ve…” 

“What? Please.” 

He looked up then, and when Louis saw the dampness in his waterline and way his poor lips suddenly wobbled, he lost all inhibition. Without thinking, he reached forward, grabbing the door Harry was still holding half-closed, yanked it open and pushed into the flat. He didn’t give Harry a second to object before he had his hands around his soft face, ruffling it a little. “Babe,” he said softly, “please tell me what’s the matter.” 

“We lost half the coke,” Harry whispered. 

His fingers were trembling. Freezing.

Louis wrapped them up in his own. “No. Sweetheart, didn’t you read my messages?” 

Harry shook his head, screwing his eyes shut and Louis had to grab him by his shirt to keep him from backing away. “No, we’ve lost half of it,” Harry repeated. 

“Baby,” Louis tightened his hands on Harry’s t-shirt, pushing him gently up against the wall to keep him from moving and shaking so much. “Baby, no, we found it. At the trailer. Niall left us everything. We’re fine. We’re good. Don’t cry, please don’t cry, Haz.” 

“ _NotNiallspart_.” 

It came out so fast that Louis didn’t catch the half of it. 

“What?” he asked, and in his moment of confusion Harry fell out of his grip, sliding down the wall and burying his face in his hands.

Louis crouched down before him, trying to pry Harry's hands off of his face. His stomach was twisting horribly, asking him to break down too. He’d never seen a grown man cry like this. He’d never seen Harry cry at all. He never wanted to again. “Baby, _please_ ,” he whispered against Harry’s forehead, “what’s going on? You’re doin’ my head in with this shit, _please_ tell me-” 

“Not _Niall’s_ half!” Harry hissed it into his hands this time, but somehow Louis caught it. He didn’t understand it though. 

“’Not Niall’s half’? What does that mean?” 

Harry’s hands flew off his face then, and his eyes were brimmed with tears, his nose red and runny and he looked so fucking terrified that Louis felt it too. “Someone broke into my flat,” Harry managed to get out, shakily, “look around you. They took my telly, my fridge, _all_ of the fucking coke, they took everything. They took everything of value.”

That was when Louis finally thought to look anywhere else but at Harry. He turned, slowly, taking in the flat he was sitting in. Or; what was left of it.


	16. Chapter 16

The phone rang around ten pm. Neither picked up. Again fifteen minutes later. Neither picked up. Half past, it rang a third time. 

Slowly, Louis began to ease himself out of the position he’d been in for the past many hours. Harry made a nervous sound as soon as Louis moved.

“Have to pick up,” Louis whispered, smoothing some stray curls back from his forehead and kissing it, “could be the kids.” 

He and Harry hadn’t been sleeping, hadn’t even been trying to, but they hadn’t spoken either, and Louis’ voice felt rusty when he picked up the phone. 

“Hiya, babe.” It was Lottie. Her voice sounded calm, but still just as cheerless as Louis felt. “Just wanted to check that you were all right,” she said, “wait, hold on…” A second of muffled yelling and then a sighed; “Fizzie wants to know whether she can eat your left-over dinner.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Louis squeezed at the bridge of his nose. He didn’t have a head-ache. He had a full-body ache. It didn’t feel physical. “Yeah, of course she can. You all right, Lots? You’ve been a little…”

It took a deep, steadying breath before she answered with an earnest “yeah, I have” that hit Louis right in the chest. “I’ve been a little... But I’ll be okay. How’s Harry? You’re at his place, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You guys all right?” 

Louis glanced over at where Harry was lying on the mattress, dressed in nothing but his pale blue duvet, eyes red and lips sore, watching Louis talk. He looked painfully awake for someone who hadn’t slept in days. Painfully beautiful, still. 

“We’re… a little.” 

Lottie gave a soft chuckle. “Yeah. Suppose everyone’s a little… But hey, if everyone is, then no one really is? Isn’t that something to say?” 

“Yeah,” Louis smiled down at the loosened piece of mattress-foam he was ripping apart for no reason, “yeah, that’s something to say.” 

Harry shifted a little, tugging his duvet up to under his chin so his feet stuck out at the end of it. Louis reached over, wrapping his free hand around his cold toes to warm them. 

“Would you guys be all right if I spend the night at Harry’s?” he asked then, “I’ll be home before you leave for school tomorrow morning.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine, Lou. I might take the day off school tomorrow anyway. Feeling a little… still.” 

“Okay. Yeah, okay, I guess that’s all right. If you’re feeling a little…” 

“I am. Well… See you tomorrow, bro.” 

“See you. Say goodnight to the others from me.” 

“I will. Say hi to Harry. We love you.”

“Love you too.” 

He dragged a hand through his hair as he let the phone slide down onto the mattress. Gazed around the flat. He’d ripped it apart, then put it back together and ripped it apart again. It’d been all the same. In the end, after hours of pointless searching, he’d had to admit defeat and had deflated on the mattress with Harry, curling into a ball. There’d been nothing left to say. Nothing that could drown out the thunder of thoughts, of _fears_ , that roared in Louis’ head. Nothing that could make it feel less like his entire body was being tied up from the insides, ropes snaking around his intestines and tightening till he couldn’t fucking breathe. 

So they’d lied there, on a mattress in an empty flat, communicating in the only way they could right then. 

It hadn’t really been lust. It hadn’t really been _heat_. It’d been distraction and connection at the same time. Harry had taken him, mouths meeting sloppily and not leaving until they were both so spent and fucked-out that they couldn’t see straight. Harry had come in him, stayed in him and chanted apologies into his neck until Louis had to kick and bite to make him stop. 

Then they’d been quiet for a while. Harry had refused to let Louis cuddle him and Louis had done it anyway. Kissed every inch of his face and told him it wasn’t his fault and they’d find the money and they’d be okay and _it wasn’t his fucking fault_. 

Harry hadn’t believed him, but Louis had bit him each time he said so, until his shoulders had teeth-marks stuck in them and he finally went quiet.

  

And yet, after Louis had just ended the phone-call with Lottie, there it was again, “I’m sorry, Louis. I should’ve hidden the stuff better or, I shouldn’t have even been allowed to hold my part, when I couldn’t be trusted to fucking-” 

“ _Harry_.” Louis plopped onto his back beside him. “I _will_ strangle you.” 

“You should.” 

“I will.” 

“Do,” and, “I hate myself.” 

Sighing, Louis rolled onto his side, slipping his naked legs under the duvet and in between Harry’s. Harry wrapped his strong arms around his waist, pulling Louis onto him and Louis steadied his elbows on either side of Harry’s face to look down at him. 

“Okay, I’m only going to say this once more,” he said firmly, “do not tell me that you’re sorry,” he touched his thumbs to Harry’s temples, pressing a little, “ _do not_ tell me you hate yourself,” he slid one hand down over Harry’s jaw, wrapping it around his pale throat, gently, “because when you do, that makes me want to strangle you,” he prodded the pad of his thumb at the dip where Harry’s collarbones met and Harry’s breath hitched against his face, “because it makes me feel like _you’re_ strangling _me_ when you say those things. Okay?” 

Louis raised his brows, trying to wrench some sort of a reaction out of Harry. 

“Okay,” Harry breathed, nodding and swallowing hard against Louis’ fingers. His own were rested on the small of Louis’ back now, curled loosely in at the dip of his spine. 

“We’ll sort this,” Louis said, lying down to rest in the crook of Harry’s neck. “We’ll sort this. We’ll figure it out,” he insisted, “and you won’t _ever_ be stupid enough again as to think that the only way to avoid making me mad at you is to disappear on me. That’s a coward’s way to react and you’re _not_ a fucking coward, Harry.” Louis could feel Harry’s jaw move against his head, like he was about to speak, so he quickly beat him to it; “but tonight, let’s not say another word, Harry. Let’s just lie here and, and- just,” he reached behind him, grabbing Harry’s strong thighs and hooking them over the back of his own, “just… close, yeah?” 

And so that was what they did. Harry tugged the duvet up to under Louis’ neck, tucked it in around them and wrapped himself around Louis like a tourniquet. His fingers trailed lightly up and down Louis’ spine for hours through the night as Louis dipped in and out of sleep. Every now and then, Harry nuzzled into Louis’ hair, nibbled at the skin on the side of his neck, pulled him closer and breathed him in. 

Even now, even under the circumstances, even as the universe seemed to be actively going against them, going against _him_ , it still set Louis’ skin on fire. Every little peck, every rusty little hum. Every time Harry tucked the duvet in again to make sure no cold air was let in. Every careful ‘you lying all right, babe?’ and stubborn little ‘m’ sorry, baby’ half-buried in Louis’ hair. 

And three little words, whispered in the dark of the night, when Harry thought he was sleeping. 

 

*

 

In the morning, everything seemed a little brighter.

Well, maybe the sun beaming in through the un-draped windows and lighting up the back of Louis’ eyelids carried some of the blame, but it wasn’t just that. 

It was the smell of Harry on the pillow. It was the sound of the shower running in the bathroom and Harry’s gravelly morning-voice humming some melody Louis didn’t know. 

It was the memory of those three little words that Harry had thought he’d gotten away with. 

And then Louis remembered himself, lying in a bed that wasn’t his own. He quickly rolled onto his stomach, picking up his phone. “ _Shit_ ,” he hissed, looking at the display, “ _shit_ , _fuck_ , _piss_!” 

“Don’t forget cunt,” came a slow rumble from behind him. “And bollocks.” 

“Shhh!” Louis said, waving Harry off over the shoulder while pressing his phone to his ear. 

It rang several times before Lottie picked up. “Yeah?” her voice was hurried and muffled at the same time, like she had it crammed between her ear and shoulder. 

“Sorry, I swore I’d set an alarm, but- how are you guys? You manage all right with getting the other’s out of the door?” 

“Yes, Louis. They left for school over two hours ago.” 

“And what about the little ones? They all right?” 

“Fine, Louis. Everyone’s fine. Relax. Just come home when you need to. Bring Harry with you if you want. Toddler’s keep asking for ‘Howie’. I’m assuming that’s him.” 

A hand slipped onto the back of Louis’ neck, giving it a light squeeze, and Louis did his best not to let his voice sound affected. “All right, babe,” he muttered into the phone, “Love you. Bye.” 

“ _Babe_ ,” Harry echoed as he crouched down behind Louis, massaging at his shoulders. He pressed his soft lips to the top bone in Louis’ spine. The hum of his voice vibrated all the way down to Louis’ tailbone as Harry asked, “that your wife on the line?” 

“Yeah,” Louis murmured, reaching up to lace his fingers through the tips of Harry’s at his shoulders, “sort of.” 

Sighing, Harry hooked his arm around the front of Louis’ shoulders, pulling him close and resting his chin in the crook of his neck. “Lottie doing okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Louis replied, because he was too tired to say anything but the truth. “Think she was quite shook up about the whole Niall leaving-thing.” 

“Mhm.” Harry pressed a kiss to the juncture of Louis’ jaw and wrapped his free arm around his stomach, pulling him backwards into his lap. “Well, it was quite abrupt. He’d stuck around for quite a while, hadn’t he?” 

“Yeah.” And that was one more thing on his list of things to feel guilty about. Bringing yet another person into his siblings’ life for them to grow accustomed to, only to have the person leave like they never even mattered. Like they weren’t even worth a proper goodbye. 

And not only that. Louis hadn’t even sat down for a quiet moment alone yet, and let himself feel sad about the fact that his best friend had left _him_. It felt like betrayal on both sides. 

It felt like something he couldn’t afford to let himself dwell on right now. 

“Are you going to call that guy?” he asked, louder than he needed too with how close he and Harry were sitting. He just needed so badly to get out of his own head. “The coke-guy. We’ve got to talk to him about working off the lost coke, haven’t we?” 

Harry let out another long sigh, shaky and cold against Louis’ collarbone. “Yeah. I called him this morning, but he didn’t pick up. Gonna try again in a minute.” 

They sat for a while, chest to back, breaths syncing up until you couldn’t tell one apart from the other. 

At some point, Louis reached back, raking his fingers through Harry’s shower-damp hair, twisted his neck and found his lips. Harry instinctively moved with it, wanting more, but Louis fisted his hair to hold him back and look him in the eye for a second. To whisper, “you said something to me last night.” 

Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion. 

“You said something,” Louis repeated, “I think you thought I was sleeping.” 

Louis watched his big green eyes, watched until he could pinpoint the moment realisation clicked behind them. 

Harry’s lashes fluttered with it, his breath stuttering and he fumbled for his words. “Uhm, I,” was what he managed, “I didn’t, uhm-”

“Think I was awake?” Louis said. Couldn’t help a teasing little smile. “Or mean it?” 

“What, I,” Harry swallowed, his gaze flicking away and around and Louis bit his lip over his grin, “I, what do you. It depends on-”

“On what I say?” 

Harry didn’t reply, just buried his mouth in Louis’ shoulder and looked up at him widely. He looked so sweet and young up through his lashes that Louis couldn’t do anything but chuckle and kiss his big nose and pull closer and whisper, “I think I do too, Haz. Love you.” 

“Yeah?” Harry blurted, and then he had them flipped around so quickly that Louis had to bark a laugh. He landed on his back, Harry on top of him, in between his legs. On his mouth. “Love you.” 

“Love you,” Louis muttered back into his hungry kisses. He had to shove both hands into Harry’s hair, fist it hard and yank it to force his head back and look him in the eye and say, “so go call your cocaine-dealer and figure something out for us, love. And then come back to bed,” he arched his brows a little, lowering his voice, “and get in me again.” 

Harry nodded so eagerly that Louis laughed out loud and drew him into another kiss. He was trapped under Harry’s heavy weight, trapped in a trailer-home with seven children and so, so trapped in love. 

Oh, how freeing captivity could feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just wanted to note that when Louis plays around with saying stuff like 'i will strange you' and touches harry's throat and whatnot, or when they do stuff like bite and kick and things like that, it's only ever okay because they both know they'd never actually hurt each other. in no way would i ever mean it seriously that Louis like 'threatens' to strangle harry or anything actually violent.  
> dunno, just wrote that if anyone thought it was too much or something :)


	17. Chapter 17

Louis watched him through the window to the outside-area of his flat. Watched how he paced around himself in circles, tugging his hair in and out of a bun until the elastic band snapped. Watched how he bit his lip over a cuss each time he took his cell off his ear, having to re-dial. Each time he lifted it again, his eyes full of hope and impatience and _fear_. Even though Louis couldn’t hear a thing from where he was waiting inside the flat, it still felt as if each dragged-out beep coming through Harry’s phone resounded through the room, like the ring of an old clock-tower, making Louis’ head spin. 

In the end, Harry gave up and came back in. 

Louis knew he hadn’t been able to reach the drug-guy (and christ, Louis didn’t even know the fucking name of the man who would potentially be breaking his thumbs in the near future) before Harry said anything. His walk wasn’t gangly now. Too heavy, feet dragging across the floors, knees nearly bucking under his weight before he reached the bed to slump down beside Louis.

Still, Louis asked him, “reach him yet?” 

Harry replied with a heavy sigh. Then he buried his face in his hands and didn’t say anything more. 

Louis laced his own fingers together, squeezing them hard to keep them still. Didn’t care if his knuckles bruised each other, didn’t care if his nails dug holes in his skin. Wanted them to. 

“Harry,” he exclaimed breathily, once the silence between them had become almost suffocating, “what are we going to do?” Louis hadn’t asked anyone but himself that question in years. Ever, really. But now he couldn’t stop himself from being selfish. Being a child and needing someone else to take charge because it couldn’t all be on him, it _couldn’t_ because then he’d _drown_ in it, he’d _die_ if Harry didn’t just fucking- “tell me what to do!” He tugged at Harry’s shirtsleeve, violently. “Harry, for _fucks_ sake, look at me!” 

Harry obliged, finally. Louis regretted making him, instantly. The look in his eyes felt like a punch in the gut. 

“He’ll call me back,” Harry said, mouth half-covered in his own hand, fingers pale and red at the knuckles and _trembling_. “He always calls people back within a day, I think. He’s always… he’s always done with me. Called me back, uhm,” he did a twitchy throw of his head, “uhm, and, uhm, I’m – Louis, _shit_ , what’ve I gotten you into?” 

Shit to up over his nostrils. “Nothing, love,” Louis said, realising that if he didn't at least try and keep it together then they'd both fall apart. He touched the back of his fingers to Harry’s frosty cheek and added, “but if you want to make up for it anyways, you can drive me home.” 

“As if I wouldn’t have done that regardless.” 

And he would, was the thing. For some inexplicable reason, Harry was willing to go to great lengths to try and make Louis’ life easier, even before he really knew him. Maybe that was exactly the reason Louis wasn’t screaming at him for getting them both into terrible trouble. And, well, maybe – well, maybe if the roles had been reversed, Louis wouldn’t have been one bit better himself. 

 

*

 

They drove home to the trailer in silence. Nothing anyone could say could drown out the sound of Louis’ own pulse in his ears or the thump of his heart in his throat. Harry didn’t put his hand on Louis’ thigh as they drove, but Louis suspected it had more to do with wanting to make sure he didn’t drive them both into a traffic pole than anything else. 

Their limbo of anticipation didn’t get any less unbearable once they made it home. The second they arrived in the door, Louis was handed with a screaming Freddie and Harry attacked by the toddlers. 

“Great you’re here, Fred’s needs a changing,” Lottie said as she threw a scarf around her neck, “I’ve got to pop out to the shops, we’re out of everything.” 

“What? Thought it was…” 

“Niall’s turn to buy groceries?” Lottie snorted, giving a sad sort of smile. “Yep,” she said, watching Louis’ face fall, “got to accommodate the changes, haven’t we? People leave, all the time, roll with it.” She chuckled dryly and it came out more bitter than anything. “Easy breezy,” she added, then turned around and left. 

“Who pissed on her cornflakes,” Harry muttered, but he didn’t really mean it, judging from his sheepish half-smile. 

It was okay, laughing at it, for now. It was all Louis could cope with until they’d gotten the call. 

“Niall, apparently,” he replied, “guy’s got amazing aim, considering he’s probably off somewhere in Mexico running a rooster-fighting ring at this point.” 

Harry snorted a laugh. “Or living in some trailer-home next town over.” 

“Living in a trailer-home? Christ, what a loser.” 

“My thoughts exactly.” 

“Might as well off himself right now, the low-life wanker.” 

“I know, right?” Harry laughed, but the hip-squeeze he gave with it felt more like comfort than tease.

They moved around the trailer-home for the next couple of hours, trying to keep busy while waiting for the call. _Needing_ to, really. Louis was pretty certain he’d die if he didn’t have his hands on a distraction every second of the hour. 

Three passed. Still no call. 

“Maybe you should try him again?” Louis suggested, as they were cuddled up in the big bed with the little ones, streaming children’s movies illegally on Harry’s laptop. 

“Yeah…” Harry hitched Doris up in his lap a little, settling her back against his chest and fixing a stray hair out of her face for her, “If he hasn’t phoned me when the movie’s finished, I will.” 

He sounded okay, but his jaw was tense and his brows drawn together, even as he chuckled at something in the movie and let Doris poke her little fingers into his dimples. 

“Hey,” Louis said softly, snaking a hand around to the back of his neck to pull him close enough that he could brush his nose against the shell of his ear and kiss the sensitive spot under his earlobe. “Love you.” He nipped at Harry’s ear-lobe, nosed at him again and whispered, even lower, because he couldn’t get the words over his lips otherwise without feeling stupid, “gorgeous.” 

Harry smiled down at Doris, who was watching them curiously, before he was shoved right in the face by Ernest screaming, “ew! Faggo!” 

“Faggot? Did you just call Harry a faggot?” Louis asked, laughing a little, “you can’t call people that.”

“Wha’s ‘faggo’?” Doris asked then.

Harry laughed at Louis, then smiled down at her. “A _fagot_ is like a bundle of something, like a bundle of sticks. It’s an old word, not used so much anymore.” 

Louis rolled his head back, catching Harry’s eye and mouthing out ‘you disgust me’. Then he turned back to the little ones and said, “alternatively, a faggot is someone who says things like ‘ _ew! Faggot!_ ’. If you say it like that then, by definition, that makes you a faggot as well.” 

He didn’t see Harry roll his eyes, but he didn’t need to. Moments later, a hand wrapped around the back of his own neck, pulling him close enough for Harry to whisper, “love you too. Faggot.” 

“ _Fagot_ , thank you very much.” 

-

They were still waiting for their call when, suddenly, the trailer-door was flung open. Fizzy busted in with her usual ‘daddy’s home’-roar, fast followed by Daisy and Phoebe. She jumped right on to the bed, almost making the laptop bop off of Harry’s knees, ended in a ‘paint me like a French girl’-position and sang, “whatcha all doooooin’?” 

“Watchin’ a moooooovie,” Harry sang back, fixing the computer back in position to make the toddler’s stop whimpering. 

“Great to see you back here, Harold. Was beginning to think you’d just hit it and quit it with me brother.” 

“Wha’?” 

“You know, the old hump and dump. Fuck it and chuck it. Ejaculate and evacua-”

“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Louis cut through, “haven’t you got some kind of homework you’ve got to pretend to be doing?” 

“Yeah,” she ran a finger along the back of Harry’s laptop, “on _this_ baby.” 

“We’re in the middle of using it, Fizzy.” 

She sighed, pushing off the bed. “Losers.” 

“Lovely to see you again too, Fizzy!” 

“Always a pleasure, Harold!” 

 

It wasn’t until half an hour later that Lottie suddenly blurted out, “Louis, by the way, what’ve you gotten Lots? And can you put my name on it, ‘cause I lost my gift for her in a bet at school.” 

“What are you on about?” 

“Lots’ present. For her sixteenth tomorrow. What’ve you gotten her?” 

_Shit_.


	18. Chapter 18

“She should be home in about fifteen,” Louis said to the group. 

To their luck Lottie had stayed the night at Chace’s so Harry and Louis had had the time to run to the shops and get her a cheap present. 

Now, everyone was sitting on the big bed, waiting for Lottie to arrive home from school; Fizzy, the twin girls, the toddlers, Freddie and Harry. Louis had managed to track down Chace’s mum’s phone number, called her up to get a hold of Chace and then convinced him to come to their local all-you-can-eat buffet at six pm to celebrate Lottie. Not that it’d been easy; it’d taken just about all Louis had in him not to lose his saccharine sugar-voice and shout at Chace to ‘pull his boney arse together’ and ‘stop moaning about having to do something for his girlfriend when he should be happy he even had one to begin with!’. In the end, though, Chace had agreed, and now all seemed to have fallen into place. 

“And you wrapped the present, right Fiz?” 

“Yeah,” Fizzy said, pointing to the kitchen table where the square box stood, rolled up in curly tinfoil-paper. 

Louis bit back a snappy ‘you had _one_ job’ and got up to find some proper wrapping paper, or at least just straighten out the tinfoil if he couldn’t. 

Before he managed, the door-handle was pulled. “Shit, Lottie’s home! _Fuck_!” Louis shouted, shoving the tinfoil-wrapped gift in behind the microwave. 

The door opened and Lottie looked at the bunch on the big bed, then at Louis, quirking an eyebrow. “You know I can hear you from outside, right?” she said, dumping her schoolbag on the floor and unzipping her coat with a snort, “lovely to hear how happy you all are to have me home.” 

“Oh, don’t be such a sourpuss. It’s your birthday,” Louis cooed, running up to give her a hug, which she quickly wriggled herself out of.

“I can cry if I want to,” she replied simply, then plopped down between the others on the big bed. “So. What’ve you gotten me? That pony that I wanted?” 

“ _Darnit_!” Harry exclaimed, “I _knew_ I should’ve gotten you that instead of the Ferrari I bought. God, I’m such a moron, now I might as well just drive it in the river.” 

Lottie laughed. Louis laughed too, watching her. It occurred to him then that it’d been a while since he’d heard the sound of her laugh. He wrote himself a mental note to give Harry a blowjob for that later.

They spent the afternoon hanging out and playing Monopoly. Within an hour, Fizzy was basically running the entire town like some power-sick dictator/bank-manager, while Harry was trying to keep Doris from eating the tokens, Lottie was clinging to jail to keep from losing her last money and Louis was surviving solely on snatching money from the bank whenever Fizzy looked the other way. In the end he was caught, and by true Tomlinson-tradition, it ended in a massive row. 

Lottie ended it, pulling the ‘it’s my birthday’-card, and then it was time to get ready to go for dinner, thank fuck.

Louis and Harry dressed the toddlers, which meant actually putting shoes on them for once. Harry tried to gel Ernest’s hair down for him, which resulted in Harry getting a big lump of gel smudged down the side of his face. 

“Yeah, we don’t really do _fancy_ here in the fam,” Louis told him as he guided him down on a chair and grabbed a piece of tissue to wipe his face. “I mean, unless you consider remembering zip your fly fancy.” 

“I don’t,” Harry said, then reached forward and yanked at Louis’ zipper to make him buck backwards with a screech. 

Harry barked a laugh and dragged him close again and Louis slapped him lightly over the cheek.

“How can you be so easy-breezy,” he muttered as he tilted Harry’s face left to get gel out of his ear. 

“What d’you mean? And stop, you’re pushing the gel in further, you idiot.” 

“I’m not, and shut up or I’ll give you a wet willy. No, I mean, aren’t you like, still… you know, worried about the call?” 

“Fucking petrified.” 

It came quickly, lowly, like the slightest mention could flick Harry right back into his state of constant anxiety. He wasn’t easy-breezy. He wasn’t even fine. He was just trying to keep it together. 

Louis smiled comfortingly and gave Harry’s ear one last swipe for good measure. He put the tissue down, stepped closer in between Harry’s legs and cupped the back of his head to tilt it backwards and look him in the eye. Harry’s hands wrapped around Louis’ legs, resting at the back of his thighs, fingers scratching absently of the fabric of his jeans. 

Louis smiled down at him, wide and closed-mouthed. Harry smiled back up, dimples and everything. 

After a few seconds, he blew a kiss. Louis winked down at him and Harry waggled his brows, smirking. Louis laughed, trailed his tongue over his front teeth in exaggeratedly, and in response Harry slid his hands up the back of his thighs, fingers pushing in between them and- 

“ _Okay_ , that’s-” Louis jumped out of it, clearing his throat loudly, mostly on purpose and a little bit because his dick was stirring and his jeans were too tight for that. And, well, there were kids in the room. “I’m going to go for a piss before we leave. You should… you know,” Louis nodded down at where Harry’s button-up was buttoned down a few buttons too low, “cover yourself, woman.” 

He walked off to the sound of Harry’s low laugh. It didn’t help the jeans-situation. 

 

They arrived at the buffet-place at exactly six pm. Or, they _thought_ they did, until Louis realised his watch had stopped working and they were twenty minutes late. Still, Chace was nowhere in sight. After an appropriate two-minute wait, they decided to go in without him. They got a few looks from strangers as Harry and Lottie stepped out of the front seats and Louis and all the kids toppled out the back of the minivan. It didn’t help that Fizzy immediately screamed “help! help, I haven’t seen sunlight in forty days! What is that smell? Is it fresh air? Aaaaargh!” Or that Louis reacted by covering her mouth and dragging her backwards into the restaurant.  
They got a table near the buffet and ordered a large coke for Lottie and water for everyone else. Fizzy suggested asking the staff to glue birthday-candles to her glass, but the waiter wasn’t as excited about that idea as her. 

“So, uhm,” Harry said, sliding up to Louis’ side as they were filling their plates with French fries and mysterious looking meat, “should we, like, tell Lottie that we invited Chace?” 

“Tell me, are you mentally challenged? ' _Course_ we shouldn't fuckin' tell her You couldn’t count on that boy to come if your house was on fire and he’d left his iPad in there.”

“So, what then, he just comes out of the blue?”

“Yeah, that’s sort of the point of a surprise, Harold. And it’s also the perfect plan; if he does come, it’s a surprise and she’ll be elated. If he doesn’t, she won’t be disappointed because she never expected him to.” 

Harry slid his hand around Louis’ waist, giving the side of it a little squeeze. “You’re a smart man, Tomlinson.” 

“Some would even say ‘brilliant’.” 

“Ah, that might be stretching it a little.”

Louis stepped on his toe and headed for the pasta-pot.

 

They were all in the middle of their second helping when Chace decided to show. At that exact same moment, Ernest launched a hand-full of mashed potatoes across the table. 

Chace screeched, loudly, jumping a whole foot backwards. “Jesus Christ…” he muttered, wiping his shirt off even though not a single gram of potato had come in close proximity of him. 

“Chace! What are you doing here?” Lottie exclaimed, jumping up to hug him. “This is such a great surprise.” 

“Yeah well,” he clicked his tongue nonchalantly, waving her off. “Thought you deserved a nice surprise. You only turn sixteen once, innit.” 

“Yeah.” She was smiling at him, _beaming_ actually, but not enough that it made up for the grimaces the rest of her family was making behind her back. 

Chace took a seat beside Lottie at the end of the table, then ordered himself - and nobody else - a large coke. Once he’d done so, he immediately excused himself for the restroom to go ‘see if he could get the mashed potato-stains off his shirt’.”

“Christ,” Louis muttered under his breath, leaning closer to Harry. To their luck, they were at the far end of the table, and there were enough kids filling up the middle of it, that Lottie couldn’t hear them. “And they say _I’m_ gay.” 

“Hey, don’t tease the poor guy,” Harry said, and Louis almost believed he was serious for a second. “You know what they say; sprinkles of mashed potatoes are like acid for cotton shirts. Eats them right up.” 

“Yeah?” Louis leant his face sideways into his hand, smiling at Harry. “That’s a nice little fun fact to have handy. Got any more of those?” 

Harry nodded down at his plate, where he was pretending not to get frustrated over a thick slice of beef that didn’t react in the slightest to his frail plastic knife. “If you accidentally pee in a public restroom that’s meant for the opposite gender between eleven pm and one am on new year’s eve you get turned into a girl. Or, uhm, a boy, if you’re a girl originally, like. You know, because… _new year, new me_. And all.”

Louis laughed lowly, reaching up to put a stray curl behind Harry’s ear. “I see, I see. And what else?”

“Uhm,” Harry gave up on the beef and moved on to his peas, but they kept falling through the ridges in his fork before he got them half-way up to his mouth. “Well… If you mix a tiny bit of elephant-semen into a cup of your own semen and then inject a woman with it, you’ll get, like, a savant baby,” he gave up on the peas, instead dabbing his mouth with a napkin and then looking at Louis, comically serious, “you know. Because elephants never forget. So they’ll, like, remember everything and stuff.” 

“’ _They’ll, uhm, uh, like, remember everything and stuff_ ’.” 

“Bitch,” Harry muttered, then turned to grab his water glass, realised he’d already emptied it and settled for picking peas off his plate one at a time with his fingers. “Oh, and also,” he said, right as Louis had turned his attention back to his own food again, “if no one notices any time soon, Doris is going to finish eating her entire napkin.” 

“ _Doris_!” 

Louis brought Doris into his lap and wiped napkin off her mouth while Harry ranted about how she might have pica, the disease of wanting to eat inedible things.

“ _Or_ ,” Louis said, “she’s just two-years-old.” 

“Yeah. Yeah. I see your point and it’s credible, but it’s not as exciting as pica so we’re going with pica.” 

“Stop saying pica.”

“Pica.” 

“O- _kay_!” Louis clapped his hands together violently, grabbing the attention of the entire table. “I think it’s time we sang a little song for the birthday child.” 

Lottie did the obligatory ‘oh-god-no-just-let-me-melt-in-my-seat-instead’-groan, but Louis knew her well enough to know that she’d have been disappointed if they had. And also, he wanted to sing even more when he saw the expression on Chace’s face. That cross-legged posh boy might be too good for birthday songs, but Louis wasn’t too good for anything, especially not for singing louder just to annoy him. 

“I’ll start it off, then,” he said, when everyone timidly began humming out of tune with each other. “ _Haappy birthday too_ …” 

And then Harry’s phone went off. 

Harry shifted at it, so violently that he not only made the entire table go silent, but also managed to grab the attention of every surrounding one. “I’ve, uhm, I’ve,” he scrambled to get out of his seat, just managing to actually remember his phone in the process, “got to take this!” 

As he pushed open the exit, he threw one last glance over his shoulder, meeting Louis’ eyes. They both knew who was calling. 

With his heart beating so hard his vision was blurring, Louis lifted his empty water-glass and croaked out, “well, anyway. Happy sixteenth, Lots.” 

She smiled, but her eyes were full of worry. “Thanks, bro.” 

Louis sat down slowly and Fizzy took over the job of making conversation. He didn’t know whether it was a blessing or a curse that his seat faced the windows to the parking lot where he could now follow every movement Harry made outside. Every time his lips moved, quivering around his words. Every time his mouth closed again, lips pressed together hard, feet tripping and kicking at the ground. 

When he almost got hit by an incoming car because he was too consumed with his phone to notice anything around him, Louis couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, getting out of his seat, “I’ll just be a minute.” 

He didn’t even have it in him to get irritated by the offended noise Chace made. 

“What?” he mouthed out, walking out into the parking lot. 

Harry had one hand in his jean pocket, the other still on his phone. He shushed Louis soundlessly and Louis stopped in front of him, gesturing for him to put the phone on speaker, but Harry just shook his head and waved him off. 

“Right… right, no I get that, I do. No, I do get that, of course you do. Yeah, I fully… I fully understand, but- is there any way you can extend the time period a little or maybe…” suddenly, Harry’s face fell, like it’d been held up by invisible strings that all snapped in the fraction of a second, “hello?!” His eyebrows shot up and he screamed into the phone again, “hello?! _Hello_?!” and then “ _fuck_!” 

“Harry, wh-”

“Shit, fuck, _cunt_!” Harry hurled his phone across the lot, smashing it to pieces on the concrete. “ _Fucking cunt_!” 

Wiping a hand across his own mouth, Louis stayed nailed to his spot, paralyzed with anticipation. 

“Fuck, this is bad,” Harry hissed, looking up at him, “fuck, Louis, this is- have you got any savings, any at all, any- anything, just, _anything_?” 

“Jesus Christ, slow down, you’re speaking too fast for me to understand shit,” Louis hissed back, “explain to me what he said.” 

“He said that- _fuck_!” Harry spun around himself, facing away from Louis and crouched down to steady himself on his knees. 

Louis waited, listening to him panting.

“Did he just say 'fuck'?” he eventually asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He wasn’t angry. He was confused and out of the loop and so fucking terrified. He was going to be angry as well, if Harry didn’t fucking- “ _tell me what he said_!” 

Louis shoved him, harder than initially planned. Harry stumbled forward until he could re-gain balance. Then he finally turned. His face was so white it knocked all air out of Louis’ chest. 

“Harry,” he breathed, almost voiceless, “it’s not going to get any easier if you leave it till later. Tell me what he said.”

And then Harry’s eyes went dark. “Even though we haven’t got any coke to sell any longer,” he said, swallowing hard between words, “he said that we’ve got to pay back the five-thousand that we would’ve earned from selling the coke.”

“But-”

“But since we’ve made it difficult for him, he’s added to the cost. We’ve got to pay back seven thousand quid.” 

“But-” 

“In the next three weeks.” 

Louis stared at him, panting open-mouthed. Harry stared back, wide-eyed and waiting. 

It took several seconds, maybe minutes, before the information made any proper sense to Louis. The words swam around in his head, one more incomprehensible than the next. 

Then they found their place. “Fuck.” Louis didn’t even feel the word coming out of his mouth, his body numb save for his stomach which threatened to make him sick right there in the parking lot. “I need to puke.” 

“Yeah,” Harry moved closer, warily reached a hand out to touch him, but withdrew it when Louis didn’t immediately move toward it. “D’you need- need something, anything?” 

Clutching his hand over his mouth and bending over, resting the other on his knee, Louis managed to shake his head. 

Seven-thousand quid. Three-weeks. Or else…

“Or else?” 

“What?” 

“If we don’t get him the money in three weeks,” Louis forced himself to look up at Harry from where he was crouched, “then what? What’ll he do, then?” 

Harry swallowed. So hard it looked like it went all the way down to his chest. “He didn’t say anything specific,” he said, his voice frail. He looked like he was fighting himself not to break eye-contact. “But he said that- he knows are names, Louis. And he’s got people. All around town. He probably knows where we live, or he will know if he wants to. I don’t know what that means. But I know it won’t be good. He’s not someone you disappoint.” 

_Why the fuck did you get us involved with him, then?!_

Louis didn’t say it. Even now, as his insides felt like they might wrench themselves dry and kill him, he didn’t say that. 

What he did, was puke. Right there, on the pavement, splashing over his shoes and Harry’s as well, everything came up. He didn’t know how or how fast, but at some point, Harry was behind him, gently moving him over behind the minivan. His hand was on Louis back for as long as it took him to empty his gut, stroking unsteady circles. 

When Louis finally didn’t have anything left to puke up and he looked at Harry again, the tears were streaming down his cheeks. 

“Fuck you,” Louis whispered, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“Yeah,” Harry hiccupped over a sob, “m’ sorry.” 

“Yeah,” Louis said, then reached up to wipe away his tears. 

 

-

“Well,” Fizzy said to the group, when they’d been silent for approximately one hundred and twenty-thousand minutes in a row, “ _that_ was gross.” 

“Yep,” Lottie muttered, staring down at her plate. 

They’d been in the middle of a perfectly normal awkward silence when they’d suddenly all witnessed Louis through the window, puking his guts out in the parking lot. Harry had been behind him in less than a second, guiding him out of public view, but it’d been too late. Everyone had seen. Maybe if someone had had enough social skills to actually carry on a conversation after a sudden interruption they wouldn’t have all been watching Louis and Harry through the window and thereby witnessed the puking, but sadly, they were all social retards.

Well. Fizzy could’ve said something to divert the attention. But she’d been too caught up in trying to lip-read Harry to do so. 

“Right, uhm. I need to, uhm- I’ve got somewhere to be,” Chace said, pushing out of his chair. 

Lottie’s head snapped up, her brows shooting close. Or wait- no they didn’t. Fizzy was so used to Lottie being a complete push-over for Chace that she’d assumed that was the immediate reaction, but- but tonight it wasn’t. Tonight there was nothing. Lottie didn’t even flinch. 

“Bye,” Chace said, waiting for a moment to make sure he was seeing right. The narcissistic arse couldn’t comprehend the concept of Lottie not begging him to stay either. “Well. See ya, Lots. Happy birthday.” 

He did a quick awkward click-of-the-tongue-and-hand-guns, then left. 

And then they were seven. 

“Right, uhm…” Fizzy said, standing up to check on Freddie in his stroller. “Right, should we open your present, then, Lots?” 

“Don’t care,” Lottie replied, her voice scarily toneless. 

“Don’t care?” Fizzy glanced over at her. She was staring at her plate still, not smiling nor frowning. “What d’you mean, ‘you don’t care’?” 

“What I said.” 

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a negative Nancy.” 

Now. Fizzy had always been the sort of person who said the wrong things at the wrong times. She rarely ever regretted doing so because she reckoned regretting things was the equivalent of complimenting a costumer at a flea market once you’d already made the sell; no use. So in the rare moment that she did regret things, which had only happened a total of three or four times, (including the time Lottie asked her if her arse looked big in her jeans and Fizzy made the fatal mistake of replying ‘no, I wouldn’t say it looks _fat_ ’) it was because what she’d said or done had been totally useless compared to the amount of trouble it brought.

This was one of those moments.

“’ _Negative Nancy_ ’?!” Lottie screamed, jumping out of her chair so fast it nearly tipped over. “’ _Negative Nancy_ ’?!” 

Fuck. Shit. _Reel it in_. _Reel it in_. The mantra went on repeat in Fizzy’s head, but she was so stunned at the noise Lottie made, that for once, she couldn’t come up with a single thing to say.

Lottie just kept staring at her, eyes fiery and lips parted, waiting for a response. Everyone at the table, even Freddie, seemed to have taken a vow of silence as well. 

Fizzy didn’t know how to break it. She knew it was on her, but her mind was blank, an empty canvas with no paint, a typewriter drained of ink. She was frozen. 

The thing about Lottie was that she never got properly angry unless there was something more behind it; unless it came from a place that had little to do with anger. Lottie was loud and confident for the most part, even a little obnoxious at times, but she was also one of the most sensitive people Fizzy knew. And when she was angry, she was hurt. 

So maybe that was why Fizzy couldn’t come up with anything to say. Fizzy could do yelling and shouting if it was just for the sake of blowing off steam. She couldn’t do the proper stuff. The stuff that sat behind all the talk, cutting at people’s chests like knifes and making Lottie sniffle into her pillow at night when she thought everyone was asleep. When it came those things, Fizzy remembered that she was really, only, like twelve. 

But the silence felt louder the longer it went on. Fizzy thought she might pass out if she didn’t break it soon. 

Eventually, Lottie did it for her; “you are the _last_ person – you _all_ are the last people – to _ever_ call _anyone_ names.” 

“All right, come on, calm down a little, Lots,” Phoebe tried timidly, “she was only teasing, it wasn’t anythin’ serious, can’t you just-”

“Can’t I just _what_?!” Lottie yelled. “Can’t I just stop being serious and make everything into a joke so we can all cope with our sorry fuckin’ lives? Can’t I just ignore anything remotely inconvenient because that’s how we get by in this family?! Can’t I just fucking ignore the fact that Niall left us – he fucking _left_ without _any_ warning what so ever- because that’s what people do with us, innit? They fucking leave and they don’t come back. And I used to-” 

“Lottie, come on,” Fizzy managed, putting a hand on her shoulder. Every surrounding table had gone quiet, watching the show. “Let’s just-”

Lottie shrugged out of Fizzy’s hand, angrily. “I used to think people left us because they were shit people. But you know what? If every _single_ person we get close to ends up leaving us, then _we_ are probably the problem. _We_ are the shit people. The kind of people who sell drugs for a living and cheat and scheme for money without a second thought to who we might hurt. The kind of people who continuously mock their own sister’s boyfriend for having a little too high ambitions and being ‘pretentious’.” She yanked her coat off her chair and this time it did tip over, but she didn’t care, “the kind of people who make someone as incredible as Niall leave and only get upset about it when they think he’s stolen their coke-money.” 

“Lottie, you know that’s not-”

“I’m leaving. Thanks for the birthday celebration. Was lovely.” 

 

*

Vines clawed at her legs, scratched through her stockings as she ran, but she didn’t care. They could have her clothes. Eat them up completely. The sky was pitch-black above the tree-tops, the wind was cold and biting and her fingertips numb from the cold. It didn’t matter. She was off the trail in some forest she didn’t know and maybe she couldn’t find her way back out and maybe she didn’t give a flying fuck. 

When her legs couldn’t carry her anymore and her sniffles turned to sobs, she fell to the ground, knees on sharp sticks and palms flat on mud. She brushed one of them off in her torn-up stockings and scrambled through her coat-pocket with stiff fingers until she found her phone. 

It took less than a second to dial. She had him on speed-dial, had since she got the phone. He was number two. She lived in a family of seven and he was number two out of everyone. He’d meant so much to her that putting him there hadn’t even been a thing, hadn’t even been a thought-process. It’d just been. He’d just been. 

And now he wasn’t anymore. And she missed him so much it hurt to breathe.

“Please pick up,” she cried when it went to voice-mail the third time. She’d dialled him dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ , of times since he left. For all she knew, he’d changed his number. It didn’t stop her. “Please,” she sobbed, “please, Niall, just pick up, I just, I need to- I just want to hear you say hi. Just want to hear your voice on my birthday, please. Please. Please, I’m so sorry I made you leave, I’m so sorry.” 

It didn’t matter. She called him again. Again. Ten times. Fifteen. Thirty. He didn’t pick up. She knew what it meant for people to leave and never come back. She just hadn’t ever truly believed that Niall could be one of them. 

And then, just as she’d crumbled in on herself on the moist forest-ground, her phone rang. 

“Niall?!” she felt like she was screaming, but her voice came out as a whisper. 

“Hi.” The sound of his voice felt like felt like a hug from home in a foreign country, felt like finding your parent after getting lost in the shopping mall as a child, felt like family, felt like love. Felt like her heart jumping into her throat. “Just called to say happy birthday,” he said. 

She laughed and sobbed at the same time, biting the tips of her numb fingers and feeling so giddy she might’ve been vibrating. She couldn’t breathe.

“Hi, Niall,” she whispered, “hi.” 

“Hi, Lottie.”

“I…” 

“Miss you too, love.” 

She bit her lip over another sob. Or maybe it was a giggle. “Christ, I might be sick.” 

“Me too, think I had some bad sushi last night.” 

She laughed, so nervously it was almost hysteric. “Shut up, fuck you. Where the fuck have you gone?”

“Out to buy milk. Takin’ a little longer than expected. Long fuckin’ line at the till, blimey.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” she laugh-cried, wiping her face with her sleeve, “shut up, Niall, I’ve- we’ve been so fucking worried. Where the _fuck_ are you?!” 

She expected him to say something stupid, something ambiguous like ‘out to find something to show for himself’, but what came out was just; “London.” 

“London?” 

“The city of opportunity, innit.” 

“What are you doing in London? You don’t belong in London, Niall.” _You belong with us. You belong at home._

He gave a soft sigh that felt like ‘I’m sorry’. “Lottie,” he said after a beat, “please don’t apologise for making me leave. You didn’t make me leave. You made me pull myself together, that’s all.” 

“I don’t care,” she sniffled. She wanted to be selfish. She wanted to tell him to come home and live on a floor-mattress in a trailer-home with seven children and never leave again and never find something to show for himself and _never ever fucking leave again_. She didn’t, though. “I’m in the middle of a forest,” she told him, “I ran out from my own birthday party.” 

“Really? Why?” 

“It was shit. Harry took a phone call in the middle of my birthday song and Louis puked in front of everyone.” 

“Well, that’s just plain rude, innit.” 

“Yeah.” Lottie chuckled a little, wiped off her nose and added, “oh, yeah, and the rudest part was when Ernest threw mashed potatoes at Chace’s shirt.” 

“No?!” Niall exclaimed over-exaggeratedly. “I’ve said it before, that kid is trouble. How’s Chace doing?” 

“Responding to the treatment, but still under strong medical supervision and suicide watch.” 

“And the shirt?” 

“Last I heard, it was lying in the one-pound-box at the second-hand-shop.” 

“Oh dear lord.” 

“I know.” 

He laughed, loud and Niall-like and for much longer than the joke deserved. She listened to the sound of it, captured it and saved it for a lonely moment. 

When it faded, she was still smiling and she thought he might be too. But it wasn’t really funny. None of this was. “I know you told me not to say it, but I’m sorry, Niall-”

“Lottie-”

“Maybe not for making you leave, then, but I am sorry for saying those hateful things to you that I did. It shouldn’t have come out that way. I hope you don’t think that’s how I went around thinking about you. It really wasn’t. _Isn’t_. I was just… you know, Chace is sort of a soft spot for me, because I- I’m not stupid. I’m not blind to the stuff that you guys hate about him and that makes me feel terrible because I still can’t seem to stop loving him. It’s terrible.” 

“It’s being sixteen years old. Having a stupid boyfriend that you won’t for the life of you understand why you liked in ten years.” 

“Yeah.” In the distance, she could hear the sounds of her family calling for her. She’d forgotten her scarf at the restaurant and the cold evening air went straight through the thin fabric of her dress. “But, Niall, before I go I just really want to know that you understand it; that I am so, so sorry. And I hope you’re not still somehow bitter at me for saying those things.” 

“I’m not. I’m really not, Lots.” 

“I don’t know how you were able to just sit there and take those words and not hate me for them afterwards. I don’t know how you do it.” 

“Well,” he paused briefly and she could almost see him shrug a shoulder and give a little smile, “hurt people hurt people.” 

She smiled to herself. “They don’t mean to, though.” 

“I know.”


	19. Chapter 19

“All right. All right. Yeah, all right. S’all right.” 

“You know, you’ve said that about fifty times since we got in the car and I’m starting to suspect that that word might carry a different meaning to you than it does to me.” 

Louis sighed, wringing his hands around in his lap. He glanced out through the car-window once again, trying to put together some sort of speech that’d make Frank agree to doubling Louis’ hours in the next three weeks. His mind was in shambles. They’d been parked outside Frank’s for over seven minutes now and Louis still hadn’t even unbuckled his seat-belt. 

“Why don’t you just play the sympathy card like we discussed?” Harry said, moving his hand from Louis’ thigh up to the back of his neck and giving it a squeeze. “Tell him that you’re in big money trouble and really put big emphasis on the whole ‘seven-children-in-a-trailer-home’-thing. If he’s not a complete sociopath he’ll at least want to try and help you out, won’t he?” 

“Yeah. I guess so.” But it wasn’t really about that. Frank wasn’t by far a heartless sociopath, in fact Louis was pretty certain that the only reason he’d even gotten the job to begin with was out of sympathy. The issue wasn’t whether Frank wanted to give him the extra shifts. The issue was whether he had any to give. 

“You’re sure he’s in today, yeah?” Harry asked when they’d been people-watching for a while. 

His thumb was rubbing lightly at the crook of Louis’ neck, probably meant comforting, but it only made Louis more anxious. 

“No, yeah, he’s in today. Always on Tuesdays,” Louis said, gently taking Harry’s hand off his neck and moving it to his own cheek. He looked over at him, giving the inside of his wrist a small peck. “All right. I’m going in.” 

“D’you want me to come with you?” 

“No, that’ll just- no. Can’t have him thinking I’ve got some sort of superhot boyfriend having my back, can I?” Louis said, unbuckling his seatbelt and forcing a little smile. “He’s got to think I’m utterly fucked.” 

Louis moved to open the car-door, but he only got one leg outside before Harry grabbed him by the shirt-sleeve and dragged him into a kiss. “You’ll be all right, babe. I’ll be out here.” 

“Yeah. Cheers, Haz.” Louis stole another kiss before Harry moved away, just for good luck and karma and all that. 

 

To Louis’ luck, the diner was short of costumers as he walked inside that Tuesday noon. He found Zayn and some new girl behind the counter, chatting idly. 

“You don’t work Tuesday’s,” Zayn said with a frown, as Louis walked in behind the counter.

“Yet,” Louis replied, pushing the doors to the backroom open. 

He found Frank hunched over his desk in his ‘office’, which was basically a renovated closet re-furnished by a white Ikea-table, a plastic-chair and the constant presence of a stained coffee-mug. 

“Hiya.” Louis said, giving a weird half-wave even though Frank hadn’t looked up from his laptop yet. He suddenly felt awkward. Unsure of what to say. 

“Oh. Louis. Hi.” Frank said, then did a belated double-take. “You’re not working today, Louis.” 

“Yeah. Well… I know, but- I sort of wanted to talk to you.” 

Frank looked at him blankly. “About the fact that you skipped out on my birthday party?” 

And. Shit. Louis had forgotten about that. “Uhm, well, I-”

“Relax, Jesus,” Frank barked a laugh, “you look like I just sacked you or summat. Come on, don’t be daft. What can I do you for?” 

Phew. “Well…” Louis stepped in closer, tapping his finger to the desk. “Uhm, so- I’m in a bit of money-trouble as of late.” 

“ _As of late_?” 

“Yeah, well, you know. As of always. But… lately, it’s gotten pretty bad, and- well, I was wondering if…” he sighed, giving his boss a pleading look, “listen, man, I just really _really_ need as many extra shifts as you can give me over the next couple weeks.” Frank’s eyes narrowed a little, but he didn’t say anything so Louis reckoned it was time to pull out the big guns, “and the kids, they’re- they’re walking around in sandals, man. They need new shoes and- the trailer-home, Frank, it’s falling apart. It’s- it’s- someone stole our front door, man, we’re freezin’ our bollocks off and- Frank, please.” 

His boss still wasn’t speaking. He had his hands folded together like guns, nibbling at the tips of his pointer-fingers. 

“Frank.” Louis flattened his palms out on the desk, leaning down to try and meet his gaze. “I am _begging_ you.” 

Finally, Frank met Louis’ eyes. It didn’t look like he was surrendering. It didn’t even look like he had a choice. All Louis found in his eyes was what he also said aloud, “I’m sorry.” 

All Louis’ air fell out of his chest, pushing out through his teeth as he deflated over the desk. “Shit.” 

“I’m sorry, Louis, I really am. I can tell that you’re desperate and believe me, if I could help you, I would. But I’ve already got all shifts taken and planned out for the next month and you know how it is. If I took away someone else’s shift they might come crying to me about their starving mother. I want to help all of you guys, but I’ve got to plan things ahead or it’ll all go to shit. I can’t change the schedule now.” 

This was shit. Frank was right and he made perfect sense and _fuck this was shit_. 

“I know… I know, I…” Louis bored his thumbs into the hollows of his eyes, digging his mind, fucking shovelling every possible idea from the outskirts of his skull. “I just, uhm- if someone wants to give a shift up or-”

“You’ll be my first call,” Frank smiled. “And hey,” he added, softly, “it’s not like it’s suddenly a matter of life or death, right?” 

Right.

 

-

As he walked outside again, he was still in a state of shock. Probably had been since the phone-call during Lottie’s birthday. Zayn said something to him in passing and Louis didn’t meant to ignore him, but he did. He walked outside and the sun beamed in his face as if to mock him. He could see Harry standing outside his van across the street, having a toke. The last couple of days he’d been smoking up like his lunges couldn’t survive five minutes on regular air. 

Louis nodded at him and made to cross the street when someone tapped his shoulder. 

“Oi. Didn’t ya hear me just before, man?” 

“I was, uhm- what, what did you say?” Louis managed, too in his head to form a coherent sentence.

Zayn seemed to sense the mood and just handed Louis a piece of paper and a slap on the shoulder. “I was supposed to give this to ya.” 

“What is this?” Louis asked, glancing down at it. 

“Some bloke handed it to me after Frank’s birthday thing. Said it was for ‘the twink with the arse’ and apparently that wasn’t me, so…” 

Louis didn’t have it in him to laugh. He just crumbled the paper up, put it in his jean-pocket and turned to cross the street. He knew who the note was from. He couldn’t handle that right now. 

Louis shook his head at Harry as he approached him and Harry nodded at the ground and said nothing more. They didn’t speak the entire drive home, blasting the radio to in an attempt to drown out their thoughts. It didn’t work. When Harry wasn’t frantically tapping Louis’ knee, he was chewing his nails or scratching up the leather on the steering wheel. 

In the end, Louis grabbed his hand, wrapping it up in his own and held it tight. 

 

They brought home a bit of groceries and Harry and Lottie made pasta with pesto while Louis fed and lulled Freddie to sleep. They had late dinner in the big bed, watching some movie on Harry’s laptop. Louis didn’t really follow it, just focused on trying to get something down him. 

Once the dishes were done and the kids asleep, Harry made to leave. 

“Wait,” Louis said, grabbing his wrist. He was lying in bed, clothes still on and face half-buried in the pillow. He was tired, but his head was spinning and he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t sleep without Harry. “Stay over.” 

“You sure?” 

“M-hm. Please.” 

Harry nodded, flicking off the last lamp. Louis watched him undress himself in the light of a streetlamp shining in through the window. Pulling his blue knit sweater over his head and dropping it to the floor. Shimmying out of his jeans and tugging off his socks. Smiling a little and fixing his hair into a loose ponytail. 

Crawling over Louis and straddling his thighs to unbuckle his belt for him. 

“You don’t have to,” Louis muttered. 

“Want to,” Harry replied. 

He dragged Louis’ belt through the loops slowly, tugged his trousers down his hips and moved his hands around the back-hem to drag them over his thighs. He got them off fully, then placed them on top of his sweater on the floor.

When he looked back up, Louis crawled into his lap to straddle him. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and fit their mouths together. Harry’s lips parted like default and their tongues slid together. The tip of Harry’s was cold against Louis’, tasting like pesto and weed and Polo’s. Louis raked his hands through his hair, dragging the hairband out and entangling his fingers completely in it. It felt greasy and knotted between hands and he probably hadn’t had a proper wash since the phone call, but Louis didn’t care. Wanted Harry on him, grease and smell and all of his warmth. 

He pulled out of the kiss with a little clicking sound and whispered against Harry’s lips, “take my shirt off.” 

Harry dragged his fingers up Louis’ back, feeling at his muscles before taking a hold of the shirt and helping him out of it. He didn’t check where the shirt landed, just threw it and drew Louis close again. 

His hands slid down to Louis’ arse, fingers digging in through the fabric of his thin boxershorts and Louis moved with it, grinding in his lap. He pressed the heel of one hand to Harry’s bulge, rolling up and down to make him moan softly into their kiss. 

Harry’s kisses turned hungrier, moving to the side of Louis’ mouth, along the length of his jaw and down his neck. 

“So hard already,” Louis mused, moving his hand into Harry’s pants to wrap around his cock and feel it hot and pulsing against his palm. “Want me to suck it?” 

Harry had stopped kissing him now, his forehead pressed against Louis’ shoulder and hands kneading lazily at Louis’ arse as Louis stripped his cock slowly, waiting for a response. “ _God_ yes,” he groaned, his breath hitting Louis’ collarbone damply to make him shiver. “ _Wait_ ,” he said suddenly, “no, wait, uhm,” and, “let me fuck you.” 

And, _God_ yes. But- “thought you didn’t want to fuck me here.” He moved back to look Harry in the eyes. “You know, what with the kids sleeping over there and everything.” 

“Please,” was all Harry said, “want to get in you.” 

Louis nodded quickly. “All right. Right.” He swung one leg over Harry and out of the bed. “Right, I’ll be right back. Just got to fetch the lube.” 

“Thought you had some under the mattress?” 

Louis threw a sly grin over his shoulder as he walked. “How d’you know I haven’t been using it with someone else?” 

“As if I’m not too much for you as it is.” 

Louis just snorted, because, well- Harry didn’t have to be a dick about it. 

 

The bottle he usually had stashed in the back of the cabinet under the bathroom-sink was emptier than he remembered. There was a tiny bit left in the bottom, but not enough that Harry wouldn’t moan about ‘ _not enough gliiiide, Lou-eeh_ ’. So Louis kept searching. He knew there was another bottle somewhere in there. Terrible smell to it, but usable enough. It had to be somewhere. 

“The fuck…” Harry suddenly said from the other room. It wasn’t loudly, but just loud enough that Louis heard. 

“What?” 

No response.

Louis went back to scrambling through the cabinets. And there, behind a tub of Pro Strength Drain Opener, was the little blue bottle. 

“Hey sexy,” Louis whispered, walking back into the bedroom. Harry was sitting on the bed still, his back to Louis. On the floor in front of it was his t-shirt and pants, now folded neatly on top of Harry’s sweater. Louis smiled fondly at the sight, then plopped down behind Harry, linked an arm around his stomach to pull him close and giving his shoulder a gentle bite. “Got the lube,” he muttered, moving his hand down to cup Harry through his boxers again. “Hey,” he said at the feel of it, “where’s Little Harry gone?” 

“Could you, uhm, just, eh-” Harry shifted jerkily, grabbing Louis’ wrist to move his hand off his cock. 

He turned around slowly and he wasn’t smiling. Not even a little bit. 

“What’s the matter?” Louis frowned, honestly a little irritated. “What could’ve _possibly_ ticked you off in a matter of-”

“M’ not ‘ _ticked off_ ’.” 

“Then what? Where’s your boner gone so quickly, then?” 

“Get your mind out of the gutter for a fucking second, _Jesus_.” 

Louis mouth snapped open because Harry was the last person to _ever_ tell _anyone_ to get their mind out of _anywhere_ , but then he noticed what Harry was holding in his hand; a little piece of paper. 

“Did you go through me fuckin’ pockets?!”

Harry’s brows flew up. “No, I didn’t go through your fucking pockets, it fell out when I was folding your jeans.” 

“What s’it say?” Louis asked, nodding at the paper in Harry’s hand, because he honestly hadn’t had a chance to look at it yet. Not that he’d really needed to.

Harry scoffed incredulously. “Oh my _God_ , how thick do you think I am? It was _in your pocket_ and now you’re seriously sat there, trying to act like you don’t even know where it came from?” 

“I know where it fucking came from, I just haven’t looked at it yet.” 

Louis reached out for the paper, but Harry fisted his hand up around it and moved it out of reach. “Where’d it come from, then?” 

“Harry, stop.” 

“All right, hang on, then, let me read it for you,” Harry said, unfolding the paper, “maybe that’ll refresh your memory.” 

“Harry, stop being a cunt.” 

Harry moved away quickly when Louis tried to rip the paper out of his hand again, then held him at arms length by the shoulder and read loud, “’ _great meeting you. Call me at 3404-777-6770 and lets have some fun ;) hopefully not in a loo next time – Chuck._ ’” 

Finally, Louis managed to snatch the paper, but Harry didn’t care any longer. 

“Who’s Chuck?” he asked, sounding so calm that Louis feared he might suddenly snap in a second. He didn’t. “You only wore those jeans today ‘cause I washed them for you last night. Which means you got that note today. So who’s Chuck? Someone from your work?” 

Louis throat felt dry. “Harry-” 

“Right, right, no, I don’t care. Just- no, I _do_ care. I _do_ fucking well care, because I’ve done- I’ve- who the _fuck_ is this guy?” 

“He’s no one.” 

Harry wiped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head down at his lap. “But, like- so… so you’ve- so you got this note today. So…” Louis’ chest hurt. “So, so- so you got it while you were in the Fish n’ Chips shop today. While- while I was waiting for you outside.” 

“Please, Harry, lower your voice,” Louis begged, “Freddie’s right there.” 

“No, sorry I’m- no, wait, no I’m not sorry.” He lifted his gaze then and he looked more pleading than anything. Louis wanted to pull him in. “Just tell me that I didn’t just drive you to your work and wait for you outside while you sucked some bloke off in the loo and then drove you home and cooked dinner for you and your family.”

“Harry-” 

“Louis. _Please_. Tell me that I’m not that guy,” he whispered, “tell me that I’m not that much of a pathetic fucking idiot.” 

Louis opened his mouth, slowly. So this was it, then. The point that Louis never wanted to get to with Harry. The point he never thought he’d let himself get to with anyone again. The point where the thought of losing Harry had become more terrifying than telling him the truth. The entire truth.

And so he didn’t really have much of a choice. “I’ve got to tell you something about my past, Haz.”


	20. Chapter 20

The morning-light was coming in through the blinds, mild against Harry’s milky skin. Over his shoulder, Louis could catch a glimpse of the clock; the kids would be getting up in less than half an hour. Louis and Harry hadn’t slept a single one that night. 

Harry was on his back, watching the ceiling. Louis was on his side, watching him. 

They hadn’t been quiet for a second all night. Now, neither had spoken for minutes. 

Louis broke the silence, timidly, “is there anything else you want to ask me? Anything.” 

Harry’s soft rosy lips pressed together a little, his eyebrows scrunching in thought. Louis wanted to touch him and kiss him and wrap himself up in him completely. He didn’t move though, because as much as he wanted to be close with Harry, he couldn’t bear the thought of Harry not wanting him back. At this point, he wasn’t sure whether Harry would even want to touch him again. 

“I, uhm,” Harry said, the sound of his voice like a small electric shock to Louis’ body. “I don’t understand why you felt like you couldn’t tell me.” 

It wasn’t really ever a matter of ‘couldn’t’. “I _could_ ,” Louis said, moving just a little bit closer, warily, “I _could_ tell you. I just didn’t want to. Because, then,” _then you might look at me the way that I used to myself_ , “then that might change things. Between us.” 

Harry shifted onto his side. His eyebrows were furrowed. Louis couldn’t figure out whether he was confused or just irritated. “It makes sense that you’d do what you did,” he said, “what the hell else could you have done?” 

Louis snorted dryly. “Taken more shifts at Frank’s.” 

“You couldn’t have, though.” 

“Could’ve not sold my arse for a living. Think I could’ve found something just a tad less pathetic than that.” 

Harry sighed. Louis couldn’t look at him, hadn’t been able to since last night. 

He focused his gaze on Harry’s sternum-tattoo instead, following the lines of it with his finger. 

Slowly, Harry’s hand wrapped around the back of Louis’ head, fingers moving into his hair. He pulled Louis a little closer, hooked one leg over his hip and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Then another to his temple. One to his cheekbone. The side of his mouth. His jaw. Down his neck.

Louis let himself be rolled onto his back and Harry fit himself between his legs. Harry rolled his hips against Louis’, slowly getting them both hard. He kissed under Louis’ jaw, dragged his lips down his throat, lightly enough to make his hairs raise. Licked into the hollows of his collarbones and pulled on the thin skin on them with his teeth. 

They humped each other like teenagers, snogging each-other’s moans quiet. Louis’ pants got pulled off till they were just hanging off one of his ankles, his legs hitched up around Harry’s waist. Harry’s cock kept poking out through his pants, wet at the tip and catching on Louis’ rim whenever he got too eager. 

Eventually, he threw a hand out for the bottle of lube they’d never gotten to use last night, and muttered, “gonna put it in” against Louis’ neck. 

“Romantic,” Louis snorted, but hitched his heels further up Harry’s back to help him gain access. “Be- oh _God_ , warn a guy,” he hissed when Harry pushed in. “Arsehole.”

“Sorry,” Harry chuckled breathily, “sorry, baby.” 

“S’okay. Be quick, was what I was gonna say.” 

“M-hm.” 

Louis pressed his heels down on Harry’s arse to push him in further and in one smooth movement he bottomed out completely. Louis couldn’t stop himself from groaning out loud and hissing, “bloody _fuck_ , you're big.” 

Harry barked a laugh against his collarbone and shushed him. He pulled out and pushed in again slowly, gently as he could, but Louis still threw his head back with a loud moan. 

“Ssh,” Harry giggled again, “babe, your gonna wake ‘em up.” 

“You try taking a big cock up your arse quietly,” Louis hissed, digging his nails into Harry’s back a little deeper than he needed to. 

Harry laughed softly, rolling his hips again. “I did though,” he said, belatedly, “in fact I did it right here.” 

“Not, - _oh christ not that deep_ \- comparable,” Louis croaked, “I had your face shoved in the pillo- _ungh_ , Harry, I said not that deep or I’ll- _ungh_.” 

Harry draped himself fully down on Louis, folding him up completely. “You’ll what?” he panted, hot against Louis’ ear. 

“I’ll- be… fuck, _fuck_ you. Be too- _ungh_ , too loud, Haz.” 

Harry chuckled again and Louis bit down on his shoulder, hard. Harry thrusted into him, balls slapping against Louis’ arse. Louis bit him harder to muffle the noise it dragged from low in his throat. He dug his fingers into Harry’s hair and found his mouth with his own. Harry tongued down into Louis’ mouth, snogging him rough and hungrily to make up for how slow he was having to fuck. 

He got a hand down between them, tugging Louis off as he went. Soon, Louis’ lower stomach was tightening and Harry was grinding in him just how he knew would make him come in a second. He spurted over Harry’s hand, holding him close by the head, frantically panting against his mouth to keep from making too much noise.

Something stirred in the other end of the trailer. Louis jerked out of the kiss, scouting the room. False alarm. No one was up yet. Yet.

“Harry,” he hissed, tightening his legs around him, “are you close?” 

“What do you think, you’re hardly letting me move.”

“Right, but babe, you’ve gotta finish, the kids are up soon.” 

“I can’t fucking well finish when you’re not letting me fuck you properly.” 

“Don’t fuckin’ hiss at me like that.” 

Harry pulled back, looking down at him with wide eyes and raised brows. “Are you seriously scolding me while I’m _inside_ of you?”

“Well, you’d probably get off on that, wouldn’t you,” Louis muttered, staring back up at him. “Fuckin’ weirdo.” 

Harry stared at him for a full second before his face broke into crinkles and he laughed. “Okay, then.”

Then he dipped down to be cheek to cheek with Louis again and placed one big hand atop of Louis’ mouth, pressing down. 

Louis laughed into his hand and tried to tease him about it, but Harry just pressed down harder to muffle his words, panting, “ _shut up, shut up, shut up_.” 

He reached down to grab onto Louis’ arse with one hand, hitching him half-way off the mattress to fuck into him better and speed up his thrusts. His movements went desperate, frantic, his breathing going choppy and deep in Louis’ ear. Louis bit into the palm of his hand, trying to accommodate how Harry’s cock grew that last bit with his impending orgasm, how Harry fucked him fast and hard on half-pull outs, chasing it. 

It wasn’t long before Harry’s hips began to stutter. “Gonna come,” he panted deliriously, “gonna come, _ah fuck_ , m’ gonna come.” 

Louis sucked Harry’s thumb into his mouth, biting down on it as Harry croaked out hoarse little _ah-ah-ah_ ’s against his ear and pressed himself deep as he could. He hadn’t worn a condom, Louis realised then, his come pulsing hotly into Louis as he came. Louis didn’t even have it in him to worry about the mess then, just lied back listening to Harry’s last moans dying out, his heart pounding against Louis’ chest and his cock still throbbing inside of him. 

Having Harry press wet kisses around his ear and cheek, slurring ‘I love you’s as he lazily rode out the last of his orgasm. 

“Good boy,” Louis muttered, giving him a peck on the cheek, raking his fingers through his greasy hair and cradling him to his collarbone, “that wasn’t so hard after all, was it?” 

“No,” Harry hummed, finding Louis’ jaw and pushing it to the side to give his mouth some kisses, quick and continuous. “Never hard with you.” 

“What are you brownnosing for?” Louis grinned, smoothing Harry’s hair back from his forehead and lifting his head up to look at his fucked-out face. “You already had me, don’t have to keep trying.” 

Harry rolled his eyes and dipped down for another kiss, wet and smacking on the side of Louis’ mouth. His hand came to rest on the side of Louis’ face, thumb tracing his cheekbone, back and forth, back and forth. 

He studied Louis’ face for so long that Louis had to catch his thumb with his teeth and bite the tip of it to keep from blushing. 

“Hey,” Harry said, and Louis’ stomach swooped just from the sound of it. It was the kind of ‘hey’ that meant Harry was about to say something real, ambush him in a way that made him blush whether he wanted to or not. “You know things aren’t different just ‘cause I know you used to, like…” 

“Sell my arse for a living?” 

Harry rolled his eyes again, but he wasn’t amused. “Yeah,” he breathed, “I guess. You know things aren’t different, like, with us because of that?” He nudged Louis’ cheek with his nose, “’cause, like, it doesn’t have to mean anything. If you don’t make it mean anything, like, like, yeah...” 

“What on earth are you rattling on about?” 

Harry chuckled. “Just, like… the whole whoring thing. So you had sex with some men and they gave you money. So what? Why is that so bad? People fuck all the time. It’s not always about the sex for both parties. Maybe sometimes a girl has sex with some ‘meh’ guy just to get back at another guy. Or a guy has sex with some ‘meh’ girl just to have somewhere to crash for the night.” 

“Something tells me you’re that last guy.” 

“Have been,” Harry replied earnestly, “but that’s exactly my point. I might’ve been that guy a couple of times. You might’ve been the guy who had sex with men for money. But that doesn’t really have to mean anything about us now.” He smiled, sweet and young and completely genuine. “As long as we both agree on what it means when it’s just the two of us.” 

Louis bit his lip over a smile. “And what s’it mean when it’s just the two of us, then?” 

“Means that…” Harry dipped down to kiss him again, once on the mouth, once on the forehead and twice at the top of his cheekbone. “That I can’t get you out of my mind for one fuckin’ second of a day.” 

Ambush. Complete and utter ambush. “Well,” Louis croaked, and _fuck_ , his face felt hot, “okay. I guess, uhm, yeah. We’re sort of on the same page.” 

“Yeah?” Harry grinned, crooked and boyish and so fucking knowing. Louis wanted to slap him it off him. “Or are you just letting me fuck you for free rides in my awesome van?” 

Louis barked a laugh and put him in a headlock, wrestling him down to his shoulder. Harry went with it, relaxing with his head in the pillow by Louis’ face. 

“It’s like, fifty percent because of the van,” Louis told him after a few seconds, “forty-five percent the laptop,” he laughed when Harry bit him, “and,” he pulled Harry close enough to have his ear right by his mouth, “I mean, this is bit of a stretch, really, but… maybe, like, five percent that I love-”

“My cock.” 

“Yeah, that was exactly where I was going, how the hell did you know?” 

Harry lifted his face just to raise a brow at him, the arrogant prick. “Oh I don’t know, maybe – ‘ _uh, ungh, oh no, harry, oh, not that deep, ungh, too big, I’ll scream, not that deep, harry, dear lord and saviour help me I’m splittin’ in half, bloody fu-_ '”

“Shut up, shut up, shu-” 

“Uhm… guys?” 

Both their heads snapped up to find a person standing by their bed, rubbing her eyes. “ _Fizzy_!” 

“Yeah. Are you guys done fucking yet or d’you want another ten minutes, cause we’ve been lying awake for like an hour waiting for you to finish.” 

Christ. 

 

-

They dropped the girls off at school, then took the toddlers and Freddie to Harry’s flat. Harry borrowed an old PlayStation from one of his neighbours and attached it to an ancient television-screen he’d found at the junkyard. 

Louis was in the middle of trying to teach them how to play Mario Cart when Harry came barging into the flat with Freddie on one arm, completely white in the face.

“Thought you were showing Freddie the kitchen?” Louis asked. 

“I was.” Harry sat down beside him, bopping Freddie at his chest to calm him even though Harry himself looked more shook-up than the baby. “But…” he glanced at Doris and Ernest, “I saw someone outside.” 

“Someone?” 

His gaze flicked to the toddlers again, then back to Louis. He leant in, muttering, “ _them_.” 

Louis’ stomach twisted. “As in…?” 

“As in the… uhm, people we owe money.” 

“What the fuck are those cunts doing here?” Louis hissed, ignoring the fact that both the toddlers’ heads snapped up in curious excitement at the sound of the C-word. “Are they comin’ in or summat?” 

Harry shook his head, nibbling at his bottom lip. It looked like ‘I’m not sure’. 

“Should we get out of here? With the kids?” Louis exclaimed. 

“I… no… maybe, yeah. Yeah, probably, but- he saw me through the window.” 

“Is he still out there?”

“Don’t think so. He jumped back in the car and drove off. I think they were just checking, you know. To know where I live.” 

“Right.” Louis pushed off the bed in one swift motion. “Let’s get out of here.” 

They tossed Harry’s bedding in the back of the van, deciding it was a good idea if he stayed at Louis’ for a while. Then they locked up his flat and drove off in a hurry. There was no one suspicious around, but Louis still couldn’t stop himself from checking the rear-view mirror every other second, just to make sure they weren’t being followed. He knew it was probably delusional to think that there’d actually be people spending vast amounts of their time just to track them down over seven thousand quid, but when anything involved the children he needed to be on the safe side no matter the cost. And, well- rather delusional than dead. 

They pulled into the lot in front of the trailer-home like normal, when suddenly, Harry made a hard U-turn. Louis and all the little ones in his lap were thrown to the left, Louis’ shoulder slamming into the car-door. 

“Bloody hell, Harry! What the fuck are you doing?!” 

Harry didn’t reply, just drove them full-speed away from the trailer-home. His jaw was tense, his fists white on the steering-wheel and he didn’t speak a word until they were back on the main road.

“What the fuck was that about?!” 

“Outside the trailer. Their car was- they were there,” he said, so fast Louis hardly caught it. But he did. 

“'They', as in-” 

“ _Them_.” 

Louis slammed his fist into the dashboard. “ _Fuck_!” Freddie was already crying at his chest from the U-turn earlier and now both Doris and Ernest were whimpering as well. He tried to comfort them, but his mind was going at a thousand miles per hour. “Fuck, where do we go?” 

“Dunno,” Harry said, swinging them off the main road and into a residential area. “Just- _fuck_ , I dunno.”

They drove around building after building, entangling themselves in a never-ending labyrinth of concrete. When Freddie started screaming so loud pedestrians were turning, Harry pulled them into an alley and stopped the car. 

Louis stepped out, pacing the alley while bopping the baby up and down, a little too frantically. “Shh, darling, it’s okay. It’s okay,” he said on repeat, “it’s going to be okay.” 

Whether he was lying or not, he couldn’t be sure. 

After a total of ten minutes or more, Freddie finally calmed down, dozing off to sleep. Louis crawled into the back of the minivan, where Harry had spread his bedsheets out on the old mattress he had lying around. He was leant up against the wall with both toddlers in his lap, showing them how to solve a Rubik’s cube. 

Louis forced a small smile and lied down on his back on the mattress, splaying Freddie out on his chest, closing his eyes for just a moment. 

 

He woke at the feel of something wet on his collarbone. “What the hell…” he murmured, before he realised it was Freddie salivating all over him. “Oh no, bubz, what are you doin’ to daddy...”

“Here.” 

Louis looked over a bundle of napping toddlers to find Harry lying on his side, holding a tissue paper. Louis took it, slowly hauling himself up to sit. “How long was I out?” 

“’Bout an hour, I think.” 

“Time s’it?” 

“Noon.” 

“D’you think those guys’ve left trailer yet?” 

“Dunno.” 

Louis sighed, plopping back onto his back. He dabbed Freddie’s mouth off, rearranged him onto the mattress and rolled onto his side to look at Harry. “Should we drive back and check?”

“Think we sort of have to. I mean, otherwise Lottie and the girls are gonna be home before us and if those guys are still there, then-” 

And Jesus _Christ_ , why hadn’t Louis thought of that first?! “Shit. Shit, yeah, let’s go.” 

They drove back slowly, warily. When they turned a corner and could see the trailer in the far distance, Harry slowed down so much Louis feared they’d get pulled over for it. He didn’t pull into the concrete lot immediately, but instead circled it, slowly closing in on the trailer. 

Louis was too engulfed in trying to keep the little ones quiet to look out, so it came as a shock when Harry suddenly pushed the back of his head down and hissed, “duck! Duck down!” 

“What the…” Then another sharp U-turn, “ _fuuuck_!” 

And then they were on the run again, so to speak. 

“They were there,” Harry hissed, and Louis was in half a mind to tell him that turning so hard his tires screeched probably wasn’t the best way of not attracting any attention. He held back and kept crouched with the kids instead. 

They drove and drove, Louis wasn’t sure for how long or where to. His eyes were pinned to his own shoes and his mind was on trying to keep the little ones quiet as could be. 

At some point, Harry finally stopped the car. 

“S’okay now,” he breathed, tapping Louis on the knee. 

Louis slowly straightened himself up again, reassuring the little ones with cuddles and kisses before he got a chance to look out of the window and realise where they were. School. 

“Lucky thing you drove them to school this mornin’ or you wouldn’t have known where the hell to go, huh,” Louis said, scouting the stream of students leaving the building for Fizzy and Lottie. 

“Nah, Fizzy’s made me drive her to school several times while you were sleepin’ in, I know the route by heart,” Harry replied simply. 

“Wh…”

Harry jumped out of the car before Louis could ask any further questions. 

Harry found the girls and hurried them into the back of the van. Then they drove to the shops to get some milk for Freddie and candy to keep the toddlers calm and then over to Daisy and Phoebe’s school. They arrived right as all the kids were coming out and spotted the twin girls quickly. 

Louis rolled the window down as Harry drove up to their side. “Girls, hop in.” 

“Louis!” Phoebe exclaimed. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“Picking you guys up!” 

The twin girls glanced over at the curious looks they were getting from school friends. 

Louis quickly grabbed a candy-bar and stuck it out of the window. “Come on, girls, hop in the back! There’s more candy where that came from!”

A teacher rolling her bike down the pavement gave them such a sharp look that Louis had to shoot her one back. 

In the end, Phoebe and Daisy agreed to getting in the van, probably just to keep Louis from embarrassing them further in front of their mates. 

Harry drove them to a parking lot behind a deserted Nando’s and Louis put the kids in the back with the big girls, telling them not to ask any questions. Then he hopped back into the front with Harry to discuss what the hell they were going to do. 

“Okay,” Harry said, “so they probably won’t stay for there much longer. We can’t mean that much to them that they’d waste all night just to check where you live.” 

“But what if they come back?” 

Harry met his gaze, his brows drawn. “Yeah,” he said, like he’d been thinking the exact same, “there’s a good chance they will. At some point, they will and they’ll be sure where you live and that you have children.” 

“So what do we do?” Louis swallowed thickly, but his throat still felt clogged. “We can’t go back to yours, can we? I mean, they know that you live there.” 

Harry’s lips pressed together in a thin line and he shook his head. “No,” he sighed, “do you have anyone you can stay with? In town?” 

Not really. There was no family, no friends, no Niall. If Harry wasn’t an option, the only possible option Louis could think of was… “Zayn.” 

Harry’s head snapped up. “Zayn?” he echoed, “d’you think he’d be all right with taking in seven children he doesn’t know?” 

“Don’t know if he’d be all right with it,” Louis replied honestly, “but all I’m really hoping for is that he’ll just be too polite to say no.” 

Harry nodded. He didn’t look happy about it, but he didn’t object either. “Zayn, then.” 

 

Louis had never been to Zayn’s place before in his life. Once he got the address off a sheet pinned to a noticeboard in the backroom of Frank’s and Harry drove them all there, Louis realised why. Zayn lived illegally in a storage unit with three other guys, one who smelled of booze, one who absolutely reeked of booze and a third who just sort of stunk like he’d never heard of a shower before in his life. And booze.

So Zayn’s was a no-go.

“Didn’t like the way that guy was looking at Lottie either,” Harry said as they pulled out onto the main road again, “fuckin’ alcoholic peadophile.” 

“Aren’t you suddenly all moralistic, Mr. coke-dealer and creepy minivan full of kids,” Louis snorted. 

Harry flicked his thigh. “Not a time to make jokes, Lou.”

And no. It really, really wasn’t. 

They ended up parking in another alley and cuddling up in the back of the van. There was no heating, Freddie was crying when he wasn’t screaming and the toddlers were growing stir-crazy, constantly alternating between over-excitable giddiness and hysteric hissy-fits. 

“No luck,” Harry said as he’d just gotten a text back from a bloke he used to sort of be friends with a little bit. Louis suspected it was an ex-fuckfriend, but he honestly didn’t care as long as said fuckfriend had a nice warm floor for them to crash on. He didn’t. “That was my last option in town…” 

Fizzy lifted her head from a pillow she’d had it buried in, and looked at him. “Don’t you have, like, a mother or summat, Harry? Some kind of family?” 

“No,” Harry said, like the snap of a finger, “not in town.” 

Fizzy opened her mouth, because his succinctness called for curiosity, but in the same second Lottie barged into the van from where she’d been out for a piss. 

“Guys,” she said, “just got off the phone. I have a place we can crash.” 

“That’s amazing!” Louis exclaimed, “where?!” 

 

*

“So… come in, I guess. Mum’s got the guest room all set up for you guys... take your shoes off before you go in…” 

“Thank you,” Louis muttered, forcing himself to look up and nod in gratitude, even though he didn’t much feel like looking anyone in the eye ever again. “Thank you, Chace.”


	21. Chapter 21

Time. The elusive concept in which life is measured. That intangible thing which you can never see, not anywhere but in the slow deterioration of life itself. That one thing which Louis waited on as his siblings grew old enough to take care of themselves, watched pass by, dragging with it the very thing he was waiting to experience; his youth. 

Simultaneously, the one thing Louis never seemed to have enough of. 

Today, he and Harry had two weeks left until the payment was due. Today, time felt more tangible than anything. Like the knot in Louis’ stomach. Like the lump at the bottom of his throat, growing harder, moving upwards. Like holding Freddie in his arms and looking at that innocent little life and knowing he’d made him the victim of something he wasn’t even old enough to comprehend. 

At two o’clock, Harry came back into Chace’s mum’s guest bedroom for the fourth time that day after a phone-call, shaking his head. “No luck.” 

Luck. A concept only believed in by people who either didn’t need it or wouldn't ever get to have it. Louis knew which one of them he was. “Freddie’s finally gone down for his nap,” Louis said softly, patting the bed beside him for Harry to come sit, “Frank just texted me back about extra weekend shifts.” 

Harry didn’t ask whether it’d been good news or bad, but he had the answer in the tone of Louis’ voice. 

Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed, watched on as Louis laid Freddie down gently in his carrycot, told the toddlers their eyes would go square if they kept watching telly on Harry’s laptop all day and finally walked back to the bed, put his hands on Harry’s shoulders and straddled his lap. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist and nosed into the crook of his neck while Louis rested his forehead on his shoulder. 

“I love you,” Harry said lowly. It sounded like ‘I’m sorry’. 

“Love you too.” 

Harry pulled back a little, looking up into Louis’ eyes. “Would it be ridiculous to consider Tabatha an option?” 

“No.” 

They were installed in a guest bedroom large enough to fit a king size bed, a two-person air-mattress and two floor mattresses. It even had its own private bathroom - trying out the big marble bathtub last night had been one of the most exciting experiences in Doris and Ernest’s life. Considering Chace’s mum a money-option wouldn’t be ridiculous in the slightest. Considering asking her to be one was. 

“But Lottie would kill us,” Harry said before Louis could. “And Chace would never let us hear the end of it.” 

“True. Then again, I suppose we should be beyond the point of worrying about that sort of thing. I mean, having Chace on our arse till Lottie bins him would be less of a problem than…” Whatever would happen if they didn’t make the payment in two weeks. Louis tapped Harry’s lips with the pad of his thumb, contemplating. “What I’d be mostly worried about is the matter of actually _asking_ Tabatha. Feels wrong.” 

“You think she’d say no?” 

“No.” Louis replied, and that was exactly the issue. “I think she’d say yes. Have you seen the way she is with Chace? She couldn’t say no if he asked her to house an entire trailer-park of people in here. Hell, she’d even give up her own bed if he pretty pleased.” 

Harry chuckled dryly. “You’re probably right. Poor woman.” The crook of his mouth quirked upward in a secret sort of smile. “Bet you she’s relieved that we’re here. Saves her from having to be all alone with that ungrateful little twit.” 

“Hey,” Louis said, “without that ungrateful little twit we’d all be clattering teeth in some alley right now.” 

Harry didn’t say anything to that, maybe because it was true and that felt a little too sad to dwell on. 

He buried his face in Louis’ neck again and tugged him closer by the waist. Squeezed him a little too hard. Louis nuzzled his nose against his soft cheek, breathed in the smell of him and tried to let it calm his nerves. It only made him feel guilty, needing to be held and cuddled and calmed. Selfish, considering the state of things. He let it happen anyway, knowing Harry needed it just as much. 

“I miss touching you,” Harry whispered against his collarbone. “Know it’s only been a few nights, but- miss you naked.” 

“Yeah.” That was another thing about time. As easy as two weeks could slip through your fingers in the blink of an eye, three days could stretch like a year in the absence of closeness. That special closeness. “I miss…” Closed-eyed, Louis moved his lips over Harry’s face until he found his mouth. He kissed him softly, lingered on his lips for seconds before whispering, “this.” He graced his thumb over Harry’s fly, not to cause friction, just so he could whisper, “and _that_.” 

Harry didn’t laugh. He made a needy noise and pulled Louis closer again, stomach to stomach. “When all this is over, I’m whisking you away on a fabulous little trip to a cheap motel.” 

Louis hummed fondly against Harry’s lips. “Sounds expensive.” 

“Oh, don’t worry, we won’t be ordering a room. We’ll just park outside and fuck in the back of my van.” 

“Harry!” Louis slapped his shoulder. “The kids.” 

Harry laughed sheepishly, glancing over at the toddlers. “Woops.” 

“Should say so,” Louis agreed, “you should’ve learned not to curse in front of them at this point, you fucking cunt.” 

Harry laughed like he hadn’t in a week. Forgot about things for a moment. Louis thought about the promise of fucking Harry after all of this was over with. Letting go and letting lose. Thought about what the concept of ‘over with’ meant. Not in general, but to them, to him and Harry and their particular situation. It didn’t help the state of him. 

 

-

 

Instead of thinking, mulling and joking worry away for as long as it took for the laughter to die out and reality to seep back in, Louis and Harry decided to take action. They shed any last slither of pride they had in them and went downstairs to ask Chace’s mum, who they’d only known for all of three days, for money. 

What they found, was a post-it note on the refrigerator saying ‘ **GONE TO EVERBUY’S. BE BACK ON FOUR WHEELS. LASAGNE IN THE FREEZER**.’

“Oh, Tabatha, why’d you have to go and do that today?” Louis sighed, picking at the little yellow flap of paper. 

“Doesn’t Everbuy’s sell cars?” 

Louis’ gaze snapped up to meet Harry’s as realisation struck him. Then he turned around and banged his head against the fridge. “She’s gone to buy a new car.” 

“Don’t hurt yourself. And come to think of it, Tabatha did say something the other day about her old car getting too…”

“Yeah, I know, she did,” Louis cut through, because he just remembered. “She’s gone to buy a car,” he repeated, more to himself than to Harry. “She has gone to buy a new car today, the exact same day that we were going to ask her for a big fat lone.” He rolled himself around against the fridge, giving Harry a sardonic smile. “If that isn’t ironic then I don’t know what is.” 

“Tragicomedy at its finest.” 

“I could almost cry from laughter.”

 

-

 

After growing stir-crazy for another hour in the guest bedroom, Louis and Harry decided that the trailer-home couldn’t possibly still be under constant observation. Even drug dealer-lackeys had places to be every so often. Harry drove off to check and Louis stayed back with the children, figuring it was probably the safest way to do it. Besides, his bruised shoulder couldn’t really handle anymore sharp U-turns quite yet. 

When the big kids came home from school, Lottie went straight with Chace up his room, locked the door and turned up the music. Fizzy wandered off somewhere in the house, probably to look through Tabatha’s medicine cabinets or sniff her lingerie. Phoebe and Daisy stationed themselves in front of the flat screen in the living room. 

Tabatha arrived back not long after, driving a BMW worth more than Louis’ entire life. He decided to take Freddie and the toddlers out for a stroll then. 

Right as he was pushing the stroller out of the front gates of Palace Chace, he saw it. That rusty old minivan. It was just parked there across the street, left wheels up on the pavement, looking like every cliché in every spy movie ever. 

And Harry was just sitting in there, playing with his phone. 

“What the hell…” Louis parked Freddie up against the gate, dragged the toddlers across the street and marched straight over and banged his knuckle on the driver seat-window. “What the hell!” he screamed, when Harry’s head snapped up. 

Harry’s eyes blew up and then it looked like he’d forgotten how to open his car-door. It took him too long, anyway. 

“What the hell?” Louis asked, when he finally managed. “Why are you just sitting there, I’ve been waiting to know about the trailer for hours, man.” Worried sick about Harry, really. 

“I’ve- been to your home,” Harry stammered. He looked a mess, but he seldom didn’t these days, and Louis didn’t have it in him to feel sorry for him right now. 

“And now you’ve just been sat here, for what, how long? Half an hour? Do you have any idea what it’s like for me to be sitting in the house, waiting for you to come back? I didn’t know whether…” Whether they’d beaten you up. Whether they’d hurt you in any way. “Whether- anyway, it’s damn thoughtless of you to just be sat out here, fucking around on your phone. I get it if you need some space, I do, but you could at least have the decency to make the trip across the street and let me know about the trailer first.” 

Louis stopped, mostly to catch his breath. 

“Louis,” Harry said tonelessly, “are you going to let me talk now?” 

Doris tugged at his sleeve nervously. Louis crouched down to pick her and her brother up on either arm, then looked at Harry again, raising his eyebrows. “Talk, then.” 

“I don’t know how to say this…” 

He looked down at his phone again and Louis was just about to grab it out of his hand and smack him with it, when Harry lifted it and showed him the display. It was a picture. At first Louis couldn’t see what of. It looked like the remains of a deserted junkyard. It looked like bended steel and smashed up porcelain and slit-open mattresses. 

It looked like a smashed up trailer-home. 

Louis’ stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me that’s…” 

“I- it was like that when I came.” 

With a trembling finger, Louis swiped over to the next picture. Windows, smashed. Next picture. Kitchen, smashed. Next picture. Clothes and sheets and curtains, tossed into puddles on the asphalt. He went to swipe again, but Harry told him there weren’t any more pictures. Whether it was true or he just wanted Louis to stop torturing himself, he didn’t know. 

“I- please. Tell me that’s not-” His stomach was turning. He couldn’t get air in. He couldn’t get air into his lunges, he couldn’t breathe, he- “please, tell me that’s not what I think it is, Harry, tell me it now, tell me it’s not my fucking-”

The toddlers were whimpering, clawing at his face and his collarbones. He couldn’t carry them anymore. His arms felt weak, weak enough to cave, weak enough to drop his toddler siblings on the asphalt like all of clothes and linens. 

Harry took them off him. Put them in the passenger seat and gave them his phone to play with. 

Turned around, legs dangling half-way out of the car and looked at Louis with worried eyes. He bit his nails, probably struggling to come up with anything to say or struggling not to scream ‘I’m sorry’.

Louis couldn’t care. Couldn’t care about Harry, couldn’t care _for_ Harry because this was Harry’s fault, it was all his fault. And no, it was _Louis_ ’ fault. It was Louis’ fault for bringing Harry into his life, for bringing this on himself. It was all on him, everything was always all on him and now the children didn’t have a home and he was going to have his fingers broken off in two weeks and Harry- Harry was worrying about what to say. 

“Don’t speak,” Louis hissed. And that was how easy it was, wasn’t it? ‘Don’t worry about what to say and you’ll be okay. Meanwhile, my life has been smashed to pieces, my entire life and the seven lives I’m responsible for has been _smashed to fucking pieces_ and I don’t get to leave, I don’t get to be Niall or Briana or you when you eventually get sick of it. I get to be that guy who sticks around, I get to be that guy who has to pay for all of it, the house, the trauma, the people who left, the people who never fucking bothered to come around, _everyone_ who failed us, and it’s so hard. It’s so fucking hard that I forget to be angry, and I _should_ be angry, I should be livid, because it’s unfair, it’s so _fucking_ unfair that I’m the only one who cares’. “I can’t be this- I can’t do this. I can’t handle, I- _don’t speak_. Don’t fucking speak to me.” 

He paced around himself. Folded in on himself and clutched his knees to keep his body off the ground. Panted. Didn’t breathe, didn’t get any air in, didn’t even try. Just panted. 

A hand was planted, big and heavy on his back, stroking in circles. 

“Harry,” Louis gritted out through his teeth, his body going rigid at the touch, “get your hand off of me.” 

He didn’t, at first. He got confused, from the sound of it. Asked, “babe, do you wanna come sit down?” 

“ _Harry_.” He straightened up, fuelled with the strength of anger. Harry’s hand followed his movements, now on the back of his neck, as if a gentle massage could soothe away all of his troubles. It felt patronizing. “If you don’t get your hand off of me this fucking instant I’m going to punch you.” 

“Wh-” He took his hand off of Louis, struck with confusion. Then put it back on him, dumb with it.

Louis spun around and punched him in the face. 

 

*

“I don’t understand why a mugger would just strike you like that,” Tabatha said, putting a bag of frozen pea’s to Harry’s swollen cheekbone. “I thought those people just wanted money.” 

“Well, I didn’t have any,” Harry muttered. His eyes were at floor-level, where they’d been since Louis had walked into the living room. 

“And so the man just hit you and ran?” 

“Yeah. Basically.” 

Tabatha shook her head. “It’s this town, I say,” she sighed, “I was always telling Chace’s dad. But he never wanted to move. Had family here.” She smiled fondly, looking over at Chace. “What’s that thing he always says, pup?” 

Chace rolled his eyes at her, but muttered, “home is where the heart is. And-”

“Heart is where the family is. Yeah,” she chortled to herself, “he’s always saying that, isn’t he.” 

“ _Was_ , mum.” 

After that, no one spoke for a while. 

Louis kept seated on the arm rest on the far end of the couch, as far away from Harry as he could possibly get. He’d been hiding in the bedroom for two hours straight, even skipped dinner just to avoid Harry. He wasn’t angry anymore, but- his knuckles throbbed a little every time he looked at the bruise he’d given Harry’s face. 

When it’d happened, Harry hadn’t even been angry. Hadn’t even said anything. Just looked at Louis, _stared_ at him, like he couldn’t comprehend that he’d actually done it. Then he’d taken the toddlers and Freddie and gone back inside. They hadn’t looked each other in the eye since. 

“Well,” Tabatha said, when everyone had silently been watching low-volume telly for ten minutes straight, “I better go defreeze those lasagnes. You let me know if you need more ice, Harry.” 

“Thank you so much, Tabatha.” 

She left the room and it went silent again. After a minute, Chace left and Lottie followed. Fizzy, the bastard, flicked off the telly before she got up and left as well. 

And then it was just Harry, with a bag of frozen peas on his cheekbone, and Louis, with sore knuckles and his arse constantly sliding off the arm rest, sitting in silence. 

As it was with their luck, they both decided to break it at exactly the same time. 

“I-”

“I’m gonna go see if Tabatha needs some help in the kitchen.” Louis stood off the couch. He’d prefer to talk to Harry, now that he knew that was something he wanted too, but he’d already spoken so now he couldn’t really go back. “Do you need me to get you anything?” 

“No,” Harry muttered. 

 

Tabatha didn’t need help in the kitchen. When Louis walked in, she’d already popped the lasagnes in the oven and was now sitting on the counter, nursing a glass of rosé. 

“Oh, hi, love,” she said, swiftly putting the glass down as if it was a sin to drink alone and she’d been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. 

And maybe it was a sin, and maybe sinners didn’t go to heaven, but Louis would sure as hell rather go wherever they got tossed if it meant more wine. Besides, if there really was a God up there, Louis was pretty certain he didn’t care for him anyway.

“Oh, I could really go for some wine right now too,” he said, slipping onto the kitchen counter. 

“Of course, love, you drink away.” She lifted the bottle and studied at it for a second. “It’s Blue Nun, though, hope you don’t mind.” 

“Don’t mind as long as it’s not non-alcoholic.” 

She chortled and poured him a glass, right up to the brim. “If you drink for the alcohol and not the taste, I reckoned you’d like a full glass,” she said, handing it over.

“My kind of woman.” He took a big sip, the bittersweet taste more nauseating than the smell. “Could pass for cotton candy, this.” 

Her eyes widened and she laughed. “That’s amazing. That’s exactly what John say-” she blinked, “used to say.” 

“John…” 

“My, uhm- Chace’s father.” 

“Right.” 

He couldn’t help studying her for a second. Wondering whether she knew how obvious she was in her hurt and whether that made her feel shameful like it would Louis. Couldn’t help admiring the idea that it didn’t.

“But if you like cotton candy-wine, I’ll give you a couple bottles to take home when you leave,” she said, pasting her sweet smile back on, “got three big cases down in the cellar.” 

“Really?” 

She grinned. “Yeah, I- John filled the cellar up with them once. He didn’t like them much himself, but- he’s quite impulsive, that man. I told him I liked them on a trip to Berlin once and I came home from the shops on our anniversary three weeks later and found them there in the cellar, covered in roses. Should’ve slapped him for it.” 

“Did you?” Louis asked, even though he already knew the answer.

She smiled. “No.” 

They paused in conversation for a moment, draining their glasses. Tabatha began re-filling without having to be asked. Louis watched her frail little hands, etched with the lines of time, and wondered if she’d ever been where he was now. If things like that could be forgotten, or at least overcome, and you wouldn’t see them unless you really wanted to. He hoped it. 

“What, uhm- do you mind me asking how Chace’s father… passed?” 

It felt inappropriate to ask, sitting in a frail little woman’s pretty little kitchen and drinking cotton-candy wine, but he couldn’t help himself. 

She frowned at it as well, but she didn’t look offended. “Oh, he’s not dead, dear.” 

Oh. “ _Oh_. Sorry, I just assumed, since-”

“Hm,” she smiled down at her glass like she’d heard it before, “no, he’s alive and well. At least he was when he sent the Christmas card last. But…” she looked up at Louis and something told him they both knew more about each other’s life than words could teach, “he couldn’t cope with… family-life, ironically. So…” she shrugged a shoulder, like it wasn’t anything. It cut at Louis’ heart, right where it had every time someone had left him and he’d had to be okay with it in order to be okay at all, “he grew stir-crazy and… you know.” 

“Yeah. I do.” 

She paused for a bit, smiling down at her cotton-candy wine and Louis felt a little like he was imposing on something private. 

“So Chace doesn’t like it when I mess up my words,” she said then, “when I mess up past-tense with present. I don’t blame him, I feel so guilty every time I do it in front of him, it must be terrible to listen to.” 

“Yeah,” Louis said, because he meant it. He thought, to himself, that maybe Chace wasn’t quite as spoiled as his clothes made him out to be. “But he’s turned out great, Tabatha.” 

He didn’t feel one bit guilty about the lie when he saw the smile it brought to her face. “Lottie’s a lovely girl as well, Louis. She really is. So well-mannered.” Pfft. “She’s got a bit of a bad mouth on her, I can tell, but I think she tries to keep it down when she’s here.” It sounded like something she’d do. “Anyway, I don’t care if she curses like a sailor in my house. But, you know, it’s nice that she cares about trying. Says something about her and…” she grinned a little, “the lovely man who raised her.” 

“All right, I think that’s enough wine for you, young lady,” Louis grinned back, “you’re talking nonsense.” 

She laughed, then pushed off the counter and took the lasagnes out of the oven. He watched her bop about her little kitchen, fixing it all up nicely for her son and his guests, making sure everything was as good as could be. She spent minutes picking corn out of Chace’s lasagne with a fork, then sprinkled a bit of garlic powder on top. She called everyone to dinner with her little bell and smiled at Louis as the sound of feet on the stairs began thundering through the house. 

“But, Louis,” she said just before the children reached the kitchen, “I did take something with me from John leaving me, back when I didn’t even have an education or a job. And… well, if you truly feel that there’s nothing you can do to better things, then you need to turn off your feelings as best you can, just for a while. I assure you, if you can manage to do that, then you’ll find there are more options to choose from.” 

“And what did you do to make things better, then? When you turned off your feelings for a bit?” 

She raised her wineglass and gave him a wink. “If I gave half-strangers the answer to that question, I don’t reckon I’d be head of the PTA for much longer.” 

 

*

 

“I’m going to sleep at my own tonight,” Harry said when everyone had left the dinner table. He’d stopped Louis in the hallway, his coat already half-way on. “Give you a chance to get a proper night’s sleep.” 

“Right.” Louis studied him for a moment, bit his lip as he looked at the big bruise he’d made on his face. His beautiful, beautiful face. “Right, if that’s what you want. And, uhm- and I’m sorry, Harry. About punching you. I really am.” 

Harry shrugged a shoulder. “I deserved it. For all that I’ve dragged you into.”

Louis opened his mouth to object, but what came out was, “yeah. Yeah, you really did.” 

They stood for a bit, laughing. 

Then Harry shrugged his coat fully on. “I should head out, then. Come back tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” Louis said, and watched him turn around.

He only made it halfway to the door, though, before Louis couldn’t take it any longer. He charged forward, grabbing him by the coat-sleeve forcefully enough that it was pulled half-way off. 

“Wh-”

“You’re not going anywhere, you big idiot.” 

Harry looked like a big, stupid question-mark in the face. “I’m not?” 

“Well, not unless you want to.” 

“I-” His brows scrunched together cutely. “I- thought you kind of wanted me to. Kind of got the sense of that, you know… What with the ‘don’t fucking speak to me’ and the face-punching and all.” 

Louis shook his head at the ground, feeling guilty and embarrassed as all hell. “I said I’m sorry, stop reminding me.” 

“No, this big bruise on my face is going to do that for me,” Harry replied, and there was a shit-eating grin on his fresh-punched face when Louis looked up at him. “You know, I was asked to do modelling once. Now that’s out of the window. You’ve smashed my money-maker.” 

Louis stepped closer, grinning and linking his arms around Harry’s neck. “I’ve smashed your money-maker?” 

“Yeah, you’ve smashed my main source of income, you violent minx.” 

“Minx?” Louis grinned.

Before he sensed it was coming, Harry’s hands had travelled up the back of his thighs and he was hoisted off the ground. He fumbled to lock his arms better around Harry’s neck with a pathetic screech and then Harry steadied his back against a wall and kissed him. 

“That’s how it is with them,” Fizzy sighed, walking past them with Tabatha. “One minute the bitter grape is punching the big cry-baby in the face and the next they’re humping each-other like dogs. It’s a fucking reality-show, I tell ya.” 

Harry laughed out loud, then winced when Louis’ jaw pressed against his bruise. “Sorry,” Louis chuckled.

“No, you’re not.” 

He was. If you could be sorry about something while still not regretting it. “No, I’m not,” he grinned. “Now take me to the back of your van and let’s get this dragged-out round of foreplay fucked out.” 

“Punching me in the face is foreplay?” 

“It is if you want it to be.” 

Harry groaned when Louis rubbed the heel of his hand against his crotch, then hitched him up in his arms and headed for the door. “I get to smack you around a bit during, then.” 

“Whatever, you big bruised-up freak.” 

 

*

Louis came to a final decision the following morning, lying in Harry’s arms, head rested on his chest. He hadn’t slept much all night, even though Harry had passed out immediately after round one and slept like a stone ever since. Instead, he’d been thinking. Weighed pro’s and con’s and possible consequences and definite consequences and terrible, terrible definite consequences. He’d fished out a note he thought he’d tossed away. It was still crumbled up in his hand now, protected inside his fist. 

He’d made his decision. It was signed in his head, laminated and locked up in a file cabinet. There wasn’t anything anyone could say to rock it.

It still worried him to death how he was going to get Harry on board with it, though. 

Harry woke with a grunt, a cute little frown and a hand curling into Louis’ hair. “Mhm, did we sleep out here? I’m freezin’,” he drawled rustily. 

“I was trying to be your blanket, but thank you for the appreciation.”

Harry smiled sleepily, tipped Louis’ chin upwards and kissed him. “Thanks for last night. You were so fucking sexy.” 

Louis patted his chest. “You too, Mr. Three-Minute rabbit.” 

“Heey. I tugged you off after, you said it was all right.” 

“I also said it happens to all the guys. Spoiler alert; it doesn’t.” 

“Shut up, why’ve you always got to tease me before I’m awake enough to detect sarcasm?” Louis meant to answer, but Harry plopped his head back on his pillow and cradled Louis’ face to his chest. “It’s okay, my baby,” he hummed. “My little baby.” 

“Ew, stop yourself.” Louis wrestled out of his arms and sat up, straddling him. “Think I just had a full-body cringe.”

“My blanket!” Harry screeched childishly. “Get down here again, my little blanket.” 

“Please stop. You’re not funny in the mornings.” 

He lied down again anyway, because pleasing Harry was on the top of his list of things to do before telling him about his decision. They lied in silence for a long while, cuddling and kissing and whispering sweet nothings. 

In the end, Louis couldn’t take one single more kiss before he’d gotten it off his chest. In the end, he just blurted it out; “I’ve decided what to do to gather the money in time.” 

“And what’s that, love? Rent your arse to Chuck for a night?” 

Louis’ face froze. Of all jokes. Of all jokes that could possibly be made, he had to make the one joke that would ruin what Louis was about to say. 

He ended up not having to say it. His expression did it for him. 

Harry shifted abruptly, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Wait. You’re not seriously considering-” 

“No,” Louis said. He managed to keep his voice calm, but only because he had his nails dug so far into his palm that he was pretty sure he was drawing blood. “I’m _not_ considering. I’m deciding. _Have_ decided.” 

Harry’s frown grew deeper. “Wait.” He sat up fully, pushing Louis off of him. “Wait, wait, wait. Hang on. You’ve _made_ the decision? What do you mean, you’ve _made_ the decision?” 

“I mean, Harry, that I’m going to do it because it’s the only way I can think of to possibly make that kind of money with the time we have left. And,” he paused, knowing his next sentence would be the worst, “I mean that I’m going to do it whether you’re on board with it or not.” 

Harry stared at him widely, his jaw going slack. 

“But,” Louis continued, softer, and warily reached a hand over to lay on Harry’s thigh, “I would really, really, _really_ prefer it if you could somehow get on board with it.” He found Harry’s eyes, pleading them. “For the kids. And for me,” he said, “and I hope you trust me when I tell you, Harry, that I love you and that you are the only person I _want_ to have sex with.” 

 

They didn’t speak to each other for half a day after that. More than, actually. Nine and a half hours, to be exact. 

Nine and a half hours of silence was what it took before Harry pulled Louis aside, looked at him with an expression so tense it had to hurt and said, “I have some rules we have to go over first.” 

Nine and a half hours. That was the amount of time it took for Harry to get on board with the plan that would save them. That was the exact amount of time it took for him and Louis to begin turning off their feelings and act without them. 

Another thing about time, though, is that you can’t tell it. But if they could, they would’ve known then, that that was the beginning of the end.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i dropped off the face of the earth for so long, but here i am with four new chapters :) 
> 
> ps. again, sorry in advance if you find a bunch of stupid mistakes that should've been edited away, i hope you can read around it if you do
> 
> Enjoy :D

‘ **Rule number one: no sex without condoms.**

**Rule number two: no meet-ups at someone’s private home and no meet-ups without the other person waiting outside in the van.**

**Rule number three: no meet-ups without speaking on the phone to the man first.**

**Rule number four: cash in hand.**

**Rule number five: full payment first, favor after.**

**Rule number six: no breath play, hard BDSM or other activities which could be potentially harmful.** ’ 

“And,” Harry muttered, hunching over the note-pad again. “I’m putting another one on there.” 

“What?” Louis asked, leaning in to try and read it. They’d spent all night making the list. How it took so long, Louis wasn’t sure because they hadn’t argued about any of the points, in fact they hadn’t spoken much at all. Most of the time, they’d just been biting nails and trying to avoid looking each other in the eye.

And now, here they sat, in the early morning sun, with a sorry little list to make them feel like they had any sort of control.

Harry wiped lead-dust off the paper with the back of his hand and pointed to the seventh and final rule on their list:

‘ **Rule number seven: If possible, Harry will take part in or take over all clients needed to raise the sum.** ’

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Louis knew what it meant. He knew what it meant, but he wasn’t sure that Harry did. Really.

“Means that I want to do, uhm- whatever these men want. If I can make it happen, I’d rather it be me than you. Wasn’t you who got us into all of this. Shouldn’t be you that makes this sacrifice to get us out of it. Not if I can prevent it anyway.” 

Louis let out a long breath, fixing a stray curl out of Harry’s eyes. He knew he couldn’t change Harry’s mind on this, but he also knew he wouldn’t need to. The men that Louis knew, the men that he used to meet up with, men like Chuck, they wanted men like Louis. Boys like Louis. They wanted someone they could pin down, fuck to shambles and gag until they cried. They wanted to fuck someone smaller to make themselves feel bigger.

So all Louis said was, “I love you,” and when he didn’t react, “Harry.” 

Harry wrapped his hand around Louis’ wrist and kissed the tender skin where his veins showed through. “Louis,” he replied.

“Love you.” 

Harry swallowed hard, dropping his gaze to the notepad again. “Love you too,” he said, his voice so frail it was almost a whisper.

*  
That evening, when the kids were tucked under the covers, sleeping soundly, Louis grabbed his last packet of cigarettes and his phone and went outside. He fished the little note out of his pocket, straightened the crinkled paper and dialed the number he’d never wanted to have in the first place.

“Hello?” 

“Hi. This is… this is Louis. Louis Tomlinson.” 

A chuckle. “Louis Tomlinson… ah. Held onto my number after all, did we?” 

Louis fisted the note up in his hand, biting his tongue over rude retort. “Yes,” he said tightly, “I guess I did. Does your offer still stand?” 

“Does my offer still stand?” he echoed smugly, then paused for effect for so long that Louis wanted to launch his phone across the street. “Does my offer still stand…?” he sang again. “Well. Let me answer your question with another question, Louis; does your arse still look as great as it did when I gave you that offer?” 

Louis took a second to stifle the tsunami of curse-words fighting to flood through his teeth. “It does, Chuck,” he managed, “I believe it does.” 

“That sounds great…” he hummed lowly into the phone. “What are you wearing right now?” 

“Right, look, I don’t-”

“Relax, Louis,” Chuck chuckled, “don’t get your knickers in a twist now. Can you blame a guy for picturing your sexy arse in some tight little thing? I don’t believe so… mhm, I’d love to just rip it right off you.” 

“So,” Louis said sharply and took a deep breath to steady his temper, “do I take that as a yes? Your offer still stand?"

“Among other things right now…”

Louis pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. “All right. All right. That’s good, then.” 

He kicked at some pebble at the ground, unsure of what to say next. It’d been years since he’d last set up one of these meetings, an even longer since he’d done it with someone he disliked as much as he did Chuck. 

“Right, Louis,” Chuck said before Louis found his words, “what do you say you squeeze your fine little arse in your tightest pair of jeans and meet me at my hotel in, say, an hour or so?” 

The patio-door opened behind Louis and the slow steps that followed told him who it was without having to look. He covered the phone with his hand, whispering to Harry, “time s’it?” 

“Ten,” Harry replied, eyes fixed on the phone in Louis’ hand, eyebrows drawn close. “S’that him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Does he still want-”

“Yes.” 

Harry swallowed. Nodded at the ground. “Well, you say the place and I drive you,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Reluctantly, Louis lifted the phone back to his ear and said, “an hour it is. Five-thousand for the night, was it?” 

“Five-thousand…” Chuck gave a low laugh. “I was pretty fuckin’ horny that night… I won’t go above four, you’ve made me wait. Four-thousand quid. And that’s for the entire night.” 

Louis’ eyes shot up to meet Harry’s. “Four-thousand?” he repeated aloud. Harry rolled his eyes, sighing exasperatedly.

“Four-thousand for the night, yes,” Chuck replied, “that’s a whole lot of money for someone like you, innit? You should be elated that I’m even willing to go above two for that used-up trailer-park arse of yours. Barry told me you’ve done a whole lot of shit for a whole lot less. Take what you can get or forget it. Remember, Louis; beggars can’t be choosers.” 

Beggars. Louis’ fingers twitched around the phone. “Four-thousand, then,” he gritted out, “good. Pay in cash. Money first, favor after.” 

“Oh my, someone’s gotten proper business-minded, huh? That’s sexy… what did you say you were wearing again?” 

“Money _first_ , favor _after_. All right?”

“Don’t get stroppy on me, now. I’ll give you your money, don’t worry, kitten, but you’ve got to be here in an hour max. And if you’re not as sexy as I recall, then the deal is off.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Louis said, going for saccharine, but landing on violently passive-aggressive, “I’ll be there in time. Have the money ready. Cash.” 

“Cold hard cash. You’ve got it, kitten.” 

“Good. Text me the address. See you in an hour.” 

“Can’t wait.” 

Louis cut off the call, fisting the phone into his hand so hard that the corners of it dug marks in his skin.

A warm hand splayed itself out on the small of his back. He let himself be pulled in, snug against the heat of Harry’s chest. He clawed onto Harry’s big soft hoodie and buried his nose in it. Harry wrapped his arms around him, squeezing him as close as he could. 

He nuzzled against Louis cheek, whispering like so many times before, “babe, you really don’t have to do this.” 

“Yes I do,” he replied, because that was the thing, “I have no other option.” 

 

*

 

The hotel that Chuck sent them to was a narrow white-painted building crammed between office spaces in the town centre. Louis passed it every day on his walk home from work. He used to admire it in passing, the beautiful Victorian styled columns of the portico and the little sign at the front saying “Hotel Gabrielle” in curly cursive letters. Once, after he’d gotten with Harry, he’d thought to himself ‘if I ever have the money, I’m taking him here, just the two of us’. After tonight, all seeing the building would do was remind of something that made him sick to his stomach. 

He didn’t say as much to Harry. Did his best not to let the pit of anxiety and shame shine through in his expression when they drove up against the pavement and came to a stop. 

“I should go in with you,” Harry said, unbuckling his seatbelt, “shouldn’t it?” 

“I think, uhm… I think it’s best if you didn’t. Just to avoid, eh- you know, pissing him off or something.” 

He nodded, wringing his hands around in his lap. “Right. Yeah, okay, but- yeah okay. But I’m right out here all night, and- and your phone is charged, right?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you’ve got me on speed dial.” 

“Yes.” 

“All right. All right.” He looked up, forcing something that might’ve been a smile if his eyes didn’t look on the brink of tears. “One call and I’m there. You hit my speed dial and that means you need me. Then I’m there.” 

“Yes.” 

“All right. All right.” He reached forward, cupping the side of Louis’ face. “Be safe. I love you so much.” 

Louis bit his bottom lip, dropping his gaze. He couldn’t look at Harry right then, right before he was going in there to sleep with someone that wasn’t him. Couldn’t look at him while saying, “I love you too, babe.” 

Harry pulled him in for a quick, hard-lipped kiss, then pressed his forehead to Louis’ and whispered, “and you’re only really mine, you get that? Do not go in there and enjoy it. Not even a little bit. That’s for me, you get that? You only enjoy it with me.” 

“I get that. Promise you,” he said, using all he had in him to paste on a small smile for Harry, “I won’t enjoy it one bit.” 

 

That promise, he kept. 

When Louis walked out of the hotel quarter to four the following morning, the rusty old minivan hadn’t moved out of its spot. 

Harry was staring in his direction before he’d even stepped out of the front doors and even through the van’s dusty windows Louis could tell he hadn’t slept a second all night. In fact, as Louis opened the passenger-door, crawling back into the seat, it almost looked as if Harry hadn’t even blinked. If Louis looked like death, which he knew he did without having to glance in the rearview-mirror, then Harry looked like deterioration. A corpse, decayed to the point where you almost couldn’t recognize him. 

Well, maybe that was exaggerating, but he didn’t look himself. Any hint of that smile Louis fell in love with; that easy subconscious upwards glide in his features, was gone. His eyes were red, the waterlines damp and the crooks of his mouth fighting just to keep themselves in a neutral position. 

And maybe Louis should feel a little bit angry. Unjust. To have spent the doing things that he loved with someone that made them feel gross. Disgusting. Insignificant. To have gone through that and then come back out here to someone who’d been sitting in the comfort of their car through it all and be met with the face of a man who looked… traumatized. 

Maybe Louis should feel angry at Harry for that and maybe he did a little bit, but more than anything, he just felt angry with himself. Disgusted.

“Are you all right?” was the first thing Harry asked. His hand twitched like he wanted to touch, but he stifled himself and kept it in his lap.

Louis ignored the sting of it and rested back in his seat with a heavy sigh. “As all right as I can be, I suppose.” 

“Were- was he- did he-”

Louis stuck his hand into his pocket, fishing out the bundle of money he’d counted through meticulously over and over again. “There,” he said, placing it on the dashboard before them.

He knew Harry had to be actively stopping his hand from immediately reaching over and counting every bill. He wasn’t sure what to feel about that. Didn’t know whether Harry stifled himself because the money didn’t matter right then or because he felt exactly the same way as Louis did looking at them; disgusted. 

“Uhm,” Harry said after several seconds of tense silence, “did he- did he treat you all right?” 

The question felt almost laughable. But Louis didn’t feel much like laughing. “He- yeah, I mean, he didn’t do anything… violent or anything.” 

“Good.” Harry shifted around in his seat like he couldn’t get comfortable. “Good, that’s- good.” 

Another few seconds passed. 

Then Harry couldn’t stifle himself any longer; “but what did you- did you- like, was it just oral or-”

“Harry,” Louis cut him off and then looked him properly in the eye for the first time since he’d gotten in the car. “Do you really want to know these things? Wouldn’t you rather just not- feed your imagination?” 

He stared back at Louis, chewing on his frayed bottom lip, genuinely torn. “I- but you used protection, right? He didn’t try and make you, like-”

“We used protection.” 

“Right. Right, okay.” Harry moved back in his seat, shifting his gaze forward. He stared out through the windows for a couple seconds, before breaking the silence again, “so you did fuck.”

“Harry-”

“I mean, if you used a condom that means that-”

“Harry,” Louis snapped, because he couldn’t do this, not now, not here. “I want to go home. I want to have a shower. I don’t want to sit here, outside of this fucking hotel and play guess-what-my-boyfriend-did-with-some-digusting-old-minger-for-money. I don’t. I want you to take me home and not ask me any more questions for the entire drive. My arse is sore as hell and my jaw feels like it might’ve fallen out of it’s socket and my skin – I- my skin, it’s, it’s- I need a _fucking_ shower,” his voice cracked over, but he continued anyway, “I want to wash myself and I want not to be interrogated about this right now, okay? I want to get out of here, I want to leave now. Is that too much to ask?” 

“No.” Harry shook his head, twice, because once wasn’t enough to convince himself. “No, of course not, baby, I – of course, yeah, let’s go. Let’s get out of here.” 

“ _Please_.” 

*  
“Hey,” Harry said, finding Louis on the porch swing facing Tabatha’s garden. 

Louis had been sitting there for a long while, staring out at the faint outlines of the bushes against the night-sky. The kids were down hours ago, but Louis couldn’t sleep. He’d showered, scrubbed his skin and sprayed himself with Lottie’s perfume just to rid any hint of man on him. _That_ man on him. 

But it wasn’t enough. 

He still smelled it, _felt_ it. Remembered it. He couldn’t wash away the images in his head or the memory of his unwanted touch or that stupid romantic part still left somewhere in him, making him feel guilty for having been intimate with someone other than the man that he loved. 

Someone other than Harry.

“Hey,” Louis replied belatedly, and forced a little smile as the bench rustled under Harry’s weight and tipped backwards a little.

Louis pulled his legs up, crossing them over each other, and Harry placed his hand in his lap, fingers curling around the material of Louis’ trackies. With a long sigh, Louis rested his head back against the bench and linked his fingers through Harry’s. 

They sat for a while without speaking, Harry tipping the bench back and forth gently on the balls of his naked feet. 

“We don’t have to ever talk about it,” he said at some point, “if you’d rather we pretend like it never happened once this is done. We can do that.” 

Louis followed the taught lines in his face, then his gaze, out into thin air. He released an unsteady breath, forming a light fog in the cold evening air. The fog evaporated in the dark and Louis asked, “d’you reckon it would work?” 

“What?”

“Pretending like it never happened. D’you reckon it would make you feel like it hadn’t happened if we acted like it? Would you be able to make yourself believe nothing happened inside those hotel rooms while you were waiting outside in your van?” He glanced over at Harry, who was still looking straight ahead, staring at nothing. “Or would it only make it worse? Leaving it all up to your imagination?” 

Harry sighed. “I’m not sure yet. But…” he squeezed Louis’ fingers and offered him a small smile, “let’s not talk about it before it’s over, yeah? We’ve still got three-sound pound to make and if we start talking about this now, then… if I open that can of worms I’m not sure I’d be able to drive you to the next job without having to kill the guy after.” 

Yeah. Cans of worms were better let unopened anyway. At least till the worms were all dead. 

“I know a guy that I’m going to call tomorrow,” Louis said after a while, “he pays well enough and he’s not dangerous or rough. If we’re lucky he’ll pay enough for a night that we’re done after him. Then we’re good and we can forget about all of this shit and get back to how we were before. Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I’d like that.” Harry sighed again, deflating against the bench, “’I miss us before.”


	23. Chapter 23

Louis chuckled down at Freddie’s chubby little face. Freddie made a spit-bobble in response. It burst and ran down his chin, to which he reacted with a grunt and a highly dissatisfied grimace. Louis tugged his sleeve over his wrist and wiped it up for him, tutting fondly.

“Want me to take him?” Lottie asked, standing by the side of the bed with Ernest on one arm and Doris wrapped around her ankle. “I’m taking these two downstairs for some breakie anyway.”

“Thanks, love, don’t know what I would do without you,” Louis said, handing the baby over carefully, “and don’t forget to heat the formula before you feed him.”

“Uhm, do I look like I’ve recently suffered a stroke?”

“No?”

“Good. So then I probably won’t forget to heat it,” she replied, dragging the kids toward the door, “exactly like I didn’t forget the past ten billion times I fed Freddie. Arse.”

She left with all the little ones, closing the door behind her. From downstairs, Louis could hear the unmistakable sounds of Chace yelling at Fizzy over something which involved either a) mess, b) stealing, c)cursing or d)a, b, c and the entire rest of the alphabet. Phoebe and Daisy had to have gone downstairs too, because when Louis glanced at their mattress, it was empty.

For the first time in days, he and Harry were left alone in the room together.

Harry was wrapped around Louis from behind, arms locked tight around his stomach. His breathing was heavy like he could still be asleep, but his nose was beginning to wake, flapping and nuzzling around the nape of Louis’ neck.

“Babe,” Louis reached a hand back to ruffle him gentle, “baby.”

“Mhm,” Harry grunted, “m’up… m’up… m’awake…”

Louis chuckled, rolling onto his back to cup Harry’s puffy face and look in the eyes once he finally managed to open them. “Morning.”

Harry smiled drowsily, like stoned out of his mind, and dragged a hand up to fix Louis’ fringe out of his eyes. “Morning, beautiful.”

It came out so eyebrow-wagglingly sappy that Louis had to pinch him for it. Harry gave him a light slap in return and Louis seized the opportunity to catch his hand by the mouth and bite on his fingers.

They rolled around in the sheets for a bit after that, half-wrestling and half-hugging.

When Harry was too morning-tired to keep going, he let Louis mount him and pin his wrist to the mattress. “Always win,” Louis grinned, “you’re so fucking weak, you know that?”

Harry just laughed. “Yeah, I know, I’m sorry you’ve gotten such a weak lazy lard for a boyfriend.”

“Should dump you and find a proper big muscle-man like myself.”

“You should. Pump steroids and cocks with him in the gym showers.”

“That does sound hot,” Louis murmured lowly, leaning down to slide his lips over Harry’s. “I’ll settle for you right now, though.”

Harry grabbed Louis arse then, so forcefully that Louis squeaked against his lips. “God, I wanna fuck you right now.”

“Mhm?” Louis slid his hand down to knead at Harry’s bulge, “like me to ride you?”

Harry’s hands tightened, his fingers digging into the flesh of Louis’ arse-cheeks as he gave a low growling sound. “Like to flip you over and fuck you face-down.”

“Always gotta be on top,” Louis mused, slipping his hand under the waistband of Harry’s boxers to wrap around his cock.

Harry nipped at Louis’ mouth to get a kiss, but Louis averted it, cheekily. He tried again, twice, then gave a childish whine. “Lou- _eh_.”

“What If I want to be on top? What if I’d like to be in control for once?” Louis asked, mostly to test him. It was never not hot to provoke Harry a little. See whether it unleashed a sudden need to be held down and dominated or just his natural aversion to it, in which case he’d easily flip Louis over and just take what he wanted. Usually, it was the latter.

Which was exactly why Louis kept wanting to provoke it.

“You don’t want that,” Harry replied, because he was just as quick as Louis, and that was both terrible and terribly arousing. “You just want me to force myself on you, you stupid slag.”

Louis laughed, caught, and then kissed him.

Harry tongued up into his mouth immediately, grabbing a hold of the back of his head to deepen the kiss.

“And what if I didn’t?” Louis panted, breaking away from the kiss after a bit, “what if I did really want to be on top?”

Harry met his eyes, just to be sure.

Then he flipped them over and forced himself in between Louis’ legs. “If you did want that,” he groaned, snapping his hips and pressing his hard cock against Louis’ through the material of their boxers, “then I would get on top of you anyway.”

“Yeah?” Louis threw his head back and Harry surged down to suck and bite up the length of his neck, “and what if I still wanted to get on top?”

Harry grabbed him by the back of his knees, folding them up around his own waist. “Then,” he said, licking a fat stripe up behind Louis’ ear, “I would keep you down because I’m stronger than you,” he slid his hand up the length of Louis’ arm, closing it around his wrist to pin it to the mattress, “I’m bigger than you,” he widened his chest against Louis’, pressing more weight down on him, “and I can take you. In a fight… in a wrestle…” he looked Louis in the eye, dark and unyielding, “and in the arse. Whenever I want.”

“Yeah?” Louis breathed, and he’d be begging for Harry to strip his cock for relief right now if he wasn’t so fucking turned on with his talk that it was almost enough. “You think you can just have me whenever you want?”

“ _Fuck_ yes, I can,” Harry snapped his hips, making them both moan. His fringe was damp, hanging down his forehead and his mouth, red and wet, so fucking obscene Louis almost couldn’t stand it. “Fuck yes,” he moaned, pushing his face into Louis’ neck and humping him into the mattress, “fuck, I’d have you every hour of the day if I could - _ungh_ \- so fucking sexy you drive me insane sometimes.”

“Yeah, _ungh_ , fuck,” Louis panted, hands fisting tightly into the fabric of Harry’s shirt, “come on, fuck me now. Fuck me, Harry, I want-”

And then- then his phone cock-blocked him. Again.

“Shit,” Louis hissed, pushing Harry off, “it could be-” he launched himself belly-first across the bed to grab his phone off the nightstand. It could be. And it was. “I’ve got to take it. It’s him.”

Scrambling to get out of bed, Louis accepted the call and made his way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He didn’t dwell on the fact that he couldn’t just pick up the phone with Harry there and he didn’t want to either.

“Hiya,” he said, putting the phone to his ear. “S’Louis.”

“Louis Tomlinson,” the man on the other end chuckled fondly, “was surprised to see you’d called. Didn’t think I’d ever hear from you ever again.”

Louis rested a hand on the sink-counter, swallowing away the pride he couldn’t afford to have. “Yeah, well… guess you thought wrong. How are you, Al?”

“I’m good, Louis. Really good,” Alvin replied, “how about you?”

“Good,” Louis lied, “where’s work keeping you these days?”

“Nowhere for too long at a time. The usual,” Alvin sighed, “but it’s funny you should call right now, I’ve actually been in England these past couple of weeks. Was thinking of you.”

Louis scratched at a stain of dried-up tooth-paste on the counter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, but I thought you weren’t up for it. Last we spoke you were pretty set on getting out so I didn’t think you’d be an option anymore.”

No. Louis didn’t either. Hadn’t thought – _hoped_ \- he’d ever be an option again. He almost felt embarrassed for calling Alvin now, for admitting to both him and himself that no matter how hard he tried not to be, he’d still be the same old whore he’d always been. The same fifteen-year-old kid, unable to provide for himself and his family in any other way than the one that made him feel so worthless.

“Well, I guess you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do,” he said, averting his own eyes in the mirror, “are you still interested in seeing me?”

“Never not interested in seeing you, Louis. You know that.”

They arranged to meet that same evening at a hotel a little out of town. Alvin set the prize at fifteen hundred pounds for the night, insisting he’d offer more if he could, but business wasn’t what it used to be. Louis believed him, because out of all the men he’d ever screwed for money, Alvin was the only one who’d ever told him about himself; about his leaching ex-husband and his heart-wrenching custody battle and how he’d almost had to give up his business for good when he’d gone down with a depression after losing it.

In all the years that Louis had sold his arse for money, Alvin was the only ‘costumer’ who’d ever asked him, “I love that I can help you and your family out with whatever I can, but I wonder sometimes, how does this make you feel? Would you be doing something different if you had no one else to worry about but yourself?”

So Louis accepted the offer of fifteen hundred pounds, knowing the promise of another fifteen hundred, if they met again after payday, was one that could be trusted.

When he put the phone to the counter, he still couldn’t look himself in the eye, though.

“All right if I come in?” Harry asked, carefully opening the door behind him.

“’Course,” Louis muttered, scraping at the tooth-paste stain with the back-end of a toothbrush just to have something to do with his hands.

Harry wrapped his arms around him, pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck and asked, “call go all right?”

Louis closed his hand around his wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah. Tonight at seven pm. He’s texting me the address.”

“All right.” Harry nuzzled his nose against Louis’ shoulder and then rested his chin atop of it. “S’he an all right guy? He’s safe, right?”

“Yeah, he’s – he’s safe. He’s… he’s good.”

“Okay. Reckon Tabatha’s all right with babysitting again tonight.”

“Yeah. She’s incredible, in’she?”

“She really is. Never met someone quite like her before.”

So they stood there for a while, Harry holding Louis and pressing kisses to his shoulders and nuzzling into his skin, and talked about Tabatha. How incredible she was and how generous, loving and giving she was and how they felt bad for her for having such a brat of a son.

They stood there for a while, safely, talking about something that wasn’t themselves.


	24. Chapter 24

As expected, Tabatha was more than happy to babysit for another night. “But don’t be surprised if you guys come back tonight and I’ve upped and left with your kids,” she said, drawing Doris into her lap, “my ovaries are far too excited to have little ones around me again than what’s healthy for a woman of my age.”

“That’s all right,” Louis grinned, pinching Doris’ cheek, “you take them for a month, I won’t mind the break.”

She laughed, linking her finger between Doris’ little ones. “If I did, I don’t think I’d be back in a month. Too in love with these little munchkins.”

“Thanks again, Tabby,” Harry said, coming up behind them to wrap Louis’ jacket around his shoulders, “don’t know what we’d have done without all of your help.”

“Oh, pish posh.” She waved her hand out dismissively, eyes fixed on Ernest who was panting and groaning, trying to climb into her lap , “get on with your night then, boys. I want these little ones to myself.”

They said goodbye to Tabatha and the kids, then popped by the bedroom to kiss Freddie goodnight and headed out.

 

It wasn’t before they were in the van, pulling out of the driveway and onto the main-road, that reality started to set in.

Louis flicked off the radio and laced his fingers together tightly, fixing his gaze on the dust-rain tapping the windshield.

“All right, I think I know where to go,” Harry muttered, taking a left and resting his free hand on Louis’ intertwined ones. “You all right, babe?”

“Yes,” Louis replied and wonder at when he’d last answered that question without having to lie. “I’m good.”

Harry let out a long sigh, squeezing Louis’ hands. “Good,” he echoed, the tone in his voice both fond and sad. “I hate this.”

“Me too.”

They drove for a while without speaking.

Louis fiddled with Harry’s fingers, pulled to crack his knuckles and dug his nails underneath Harry’s to pick out dirt. He couldn’t keep still, couldn’t keep his mind steady, not even for a second. This was the second time Harry had driven him to a meet-up, but Louis knew he’d never get to a point where it wouldn’t make him feel terrible. Didn’t think he wanted to.

They arrived at Alvin’s hotel half an hour later, when the rain had stilled and the building was clear through their windows. It was a nice place, much fancier than the one Louis had met Chuck in, with a doorman in a suit, opening the doors for ladies with pearl necklaces and men with leather briefcases and shiny shoes.

So nice, in fact, that Harry couldn’t hide his apprehension parking his rusty old van up the pavement before it.

“You going straight up to his room?” he asked, glancing at the doorman to be sure he wouldn’t be asked to move his van, “what number was it again?”

“No,” Louis replied, looking through the large windows to the hotel restaurant. He couldn’t pin Alvin down from here, but knew he’d be able to the second he walked inside. Alvin was one of many, but his frizzy blonde hair and nervous blue eyes never seized to stand out in a crowd. “We’re having dinner first, I think.”

“Oh.” Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Like, drinks or-”

“Dinner.”

Louis unclicked his seatbelt, but it seemed Harry was holding his breath, or at least trying to steady it, so Louis stayed in his seat, adding; “this guy, ehm- Alvin, is his name. We always have- always used to have dinner first. Before going up to- ehm… yeah.”

“Really? What, so like, you sit there and, what, talk about-”

That was the moment Louis realized Harry wasn’t okay. Well, he knew Harry wasn’t okay with any of this, but this in particular - the thought of Louis sitting at a fancy restaurant, much fancier than anything Harry would ever be able to take him to, and eating nice food over candle-lights and expensive wine - this was more than he'd bargained for.

“Hey,” Louis said, shifting to look at him. He wrapped Harry’s hand up in his own and pasted on a reassuring smile, “it’s just dinner, babe. He likes to unwind because he knows he’s paying me so he feels like he can tell me about all his shit. Sort of like a therapist who won’t try and tell him what to do with himself. I listen until he’s gotten all his troubles off his chest and then we go up and… you know. But it’s not romantic or anything,” he gave Harry’s hand another squeeze, “not to me, anyway.”

The deep V etched between Harry’s brows still wasn’t going away. “But- yeah, okay. But… like, how well do you know this guy?”

“Pretty well,” Louis replied quickly, a second before he realized that he’d misinterpreted Harry’s question. He wasn’t asking to make sure Louis wasn’t getting himself into a potentially dangerous situation. He was asking to make sure that Louis wasn’t getting himself into a potentially _enjoyable_ situation. “No, hey,” Louis blurted, “hey, no, it’s not- babe. Babe, look at me.”

Harry did then and Louis almost wished he hadn’t. His expression was stained with a childish sort of nervousness that made Louis both want to cradle him to his chest and punch him in the face for doing this to him right now.

But he’d already punched Harry once before and he didn’t much fancy the idea of getting his knuckles hurt again, so he grabbed a hold of Harry’s seat and hauled himself into his lap. He wrapped Harry’s stupid pretty face up in his hands and kissed it.

Then he pressed his forehead to Harry’s and looked at his eyes until Harry stopped looking everywhere else. “Babe,” he said, when he’d finally arrested Harry’s gaze, “I’m going in there to spend the night with him because I need his money. That’s all that I need - that’s all that I _want_ \- from him. If it wasn’t about the money then I’d never speak to him again. Once this is done, I will never speak to him again and I won’t think twice about it. He’s not anything to me. Just money. That’s all I’ll see when I look at him.” Louis allowed a little smile to creep onto his lips, “dollar signs, babe. He’s basically just one big dollar sign to me.”

Harry gave a breathy chuckle and then pecked Louis’ lips and hugged him close. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Louis pulled back a little, raising his brows in question. “Okay?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I get it. It’s okay.” It still didn’t look entirely okay, but then none of this was. “Stay here for a second,” Harry said, pulling Louis into another kiss. He planted three more, hard and bitey, around Louis’ face and then squeezed his body close again. “It’s just because you make me so crazy with it,” he whispered, “if you didn’t make me like this I wouldn’t be such a little bitch.”

Louis nipped at Harry’s chin. “Little bitch.”

“I mean it,” Harry said and then looked at him so earnestly that Louis had to bark a laugh. “I mean it, Louis. You make me into this little… little bitch of a man who worries about- about shit I only thought fourteen-year-old girls worried about.”

“Yeah,” Louis kissed him again, “I know the feeling,” he chuckled, but he meant it just as much. If the roles had been reversed, he’d be shaking like a little bitch of a dog, pissing himself in frustration. Pissing on Harry to mark his territory.

“If I weren’t so obsessed with you I wouldn’t be such a wimp,” Harry whispered, “I promise you, I’m normally a very light-hearted guy.”

“No you’re not.”

“I am. I really am. I’ve never been,” he sighed, laughing breathily at his own words, “like, in love like this before. So- so whatever you do it’s like… like, if you were just one of my ex-girlfriend’s then I’d have been a bit gutted about things. Maybe a bit jealous sometimes. But when it’s you, it’s just… things matter more, you know. Like, a thousand times more.”

Louis pulled him in again, missing words. It made sense, what Harry said he felt, Louis knew, because he felt it too. Made things matter more. A thousand times worse and a million times better.

Right now, though, it wasn’t the latter and that made him feel so terrible he could hardly be in his own body.

“Right,” he said, crawling back into the passenger seat, “we’re not opening this can of worms. Not right now. You stay put here. I’ll call you at the slightest thing, I promise. Now,” he opened the door and swung one leg out, giving Harry a wink over the shoulder, “I’ll go in there and use some anonymous dollar-sign for his last pocket-money.”

“And then you come back out to me.”

Louis surged over to press one last kiss to Harry’s lips. “And then I’ll come back out to you so fast you won’t notice I’ve been gone.”

“I’ll notice.”

Louis cackled, jumping out of the car. “Course you will, you little bitch.”

Just as he’d anticipated, Louis pinned Alvin down the second he walked inside the hotel restaurant. He was sitting at the bar, grey linen suit and blonde hair gelled back, ripping the receipt for the drink he’d already drained into tiny pieces.

When Louis reached up to him and tapped his shoulder, Alvin smiled from ear to ear and got up to hug him, tightly. The crinkles by his eyes were deeper, worry-lines now permanently etched in his forehead. He couldn’t run from the fact that he’d turned fifty since Louis last saw him, not even in a nice suit and his best smile.

His eyes were the same as they’d always been, though, light-blue and nervously young-looking.

And for a moment there, the thought of meeting Niall again one day popped into Louis’ head. Running into him at a hotel bar somewhere when they were both old and all their current troubles were nothing but over-told tales their grandchildren didn’t want to hear again. Maybe Louis would look Niall in the eyes and see a glimpse of the twenty-something-year-old he once knew. Maybe, just for second, it’d be like he’d never left.

Of course, that was only wishful thinking.

People left and lives went on. Louis’ would hopefully soon and Niall’s probably already had and while Louis hadn’t seen Alvin, his had too. His daughter was six now, just started school. Alvin showed him a picture of a little blonde-haired girl showing off her pink backpack, nervous blue eyes beaming with pride.

He filed it back in his wallet, and as dinner went on, Louis found that the picture in his wallet the most Alvin got to see of her these days. His ex-husband had brought her back to Sweden and Alvin’s job brought him everywhere else.

“I can’t wait till this summer, though,” he told Louis over smoked salmon and their second bottle of wine, “Vidar and Erik are taking her to Spain for most of her break, but I get her for an entire week. I’m going to take her down to my mother’s old house and show her the lake that I used to swim in as a child. Vidar told me she’s learned how to swim. I can’t wait to see how good she is at it. I bet you she’s a natural just like my sister was. Runs in the family.”  
“I’m sure she is. And I’m so happy for you that you managed to sort out speaking- you know, with Vidar and that.”

“Yeah…” Alvin shrugged a shoulder, half-smiling down into his wine-glass. “It’s never going to get perfect. Erik doesn’t like me very much, I’m not quite sure why. And Vidar’s always been easy to sway, so…”

“Erik’s his new husband, right?”

“Yeah. He’s- he’s a nice guy at heart, I think. Good with Tilde, but… yeah, I guess that’s really all that matters.”

He smiled at Louis and Louis returned it. He suddenly felt generous with himself, “you know, I’ve actually had a son since you and I last spoke.”

“What?” Alvin’s eyes widened, his smile too. “No - is that right? When? What’s his name?”

“Freddie. He’ll be one in a minute,” Louis said, slipping a hand into his own pocket too look for his wallet before remembering that he didn’t keep a picture of Freddie in there. In fact, he didn’t keep a picture of any of the kids in there. “I actually don’t carry a picture of him, come to think of it.”

“I suppose you don’t need to,” Alvin smiled softly, “if you see him all the time. Do you?”

“Yeah,” Louis smiled back, “yeah, I suppose I’ve got full custody. The mum’s not really in his life. At all, actually. So… yeah, I see him every single day. And all the other ones too. They’re great, and – yeah, they’re lovely. Could use a Vidar to take over once in a while, though. It’s… a lot sometimes.”

Alvin waved for the waiter to hand them their bill, then reached a hand over to lay atop of Louis’, “it must be incredible, though,” he said, “to have them there with you. I’d give up everything to have Tilde with me every day.”

“I’m not so sure you really mean that.” Louis rested back in his seat as Alvin handed the waiter his credit card. “Say, would you give up your entire career for it?”

He didn’t say anything until the waiter had left them.

Then he met Louis’ eyes again and gave a small smile, “I’d give my entire life to have what you have with them. Money… it’s only good as long as it’s enough to cover the people you love. Anything else,” he shook his head down at the table, “doesn’t mean a fucking thing.”

After that, they went up to Alvin’s hotel room and had sex.

As he laid there in the king size bed, fucked-out and spent, wrapped in satin sheets, before the panorama-windows over-looking the city, Louis counted his money. Fifteen-hundred quid exactly. Cold hard cash like he wanted. Great food, expensive wine and a luxurious penthouse suite. A life Louis had always dreamt of having one day. And a man by his side, willing to give it all up in a second if it meant he could have what Louis had.


	25. Chapter 25

At six am the following morning, Louis and Alvin left the suite.

Louis pulled his phone out as Alvin checked out at the front desk. ‘ **U still out there? Im comin out now** ’ he messaged Harry.

Not half a minute later, a response ticked in. ‘ **Yes miss you come now** ’

He smiled down at the display. They’d only been apart for a night, but Louis had missed Harry too, considering everything. He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Harry, sitting out there all night, knowing Louis was in there, fucking someone else. All Louis wanted to do now was get out and get into Harry’s rusty old van and pull him close.

“All right?” Alvin asked, tapping the small of Louis’ back. “You ready to leave?”

“Yeah.” Louis tucked his phone back in his pocket and nodded toward the vestibule. “I’m ready.”

Alvin flattened his hand out Louis’ back, keeping it there as he guided them outside.

“My car is down the other side of the building,” he said as they reached cross-roads outside the entrance.

All Louis could see was Harry’s van, right before them, and Harry inside it, staring right at them.

“Yeah. Okay,” he muttered, turning to give Alvin a polite smile, “well, this was nice.”

Alvin returned the smile, curling his hand around the fabric of Louis’ jacket and tugging him closer. “It was,” he murmured, his eyes gliding down to Louis’ lips.

Louis stomach curled up. The side of his face burned, knowing Harry’s eyes were still on them. “Yeah,” he said breathily, avoiding Alvin’s eyes.

“I’ll call you the day after tomorrow,” Alvin said, “we can meet up again and- I’ll have a little more on my hands to help you then.”

Right. Louis couldn’t push him off now, couldn’t be as cold as he wanted to, couldn’t act as indifferent to Alvin’s touch as he felt. As he wanted Harry to see that he felt. Not if he wanted his last fifteen hundred, anyway. And he didn’t want them, he fucking _needed_ them.

So he pasted on a smile. “That sounds great,” he said softly.

“ _You_ were great.” Alvin placed his other hand around the side of Louis’ jaw.

Louis swallowed hard, forced to stay in it, even as every fiber in his body screamed for him to back away. “Thank you. You too,” he managed.

“Don’t,” Alvin traced Louis’ cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Louis dropped his gaze. “Thank you.”

“Kiss goodbye?”

Louis’ gaze shot up again. No. He couldn’t do that, not with Harry watching, not with how he knew they had to look right now; holding each other close still, like this actually meant something. It of course it fucking didn’t, it meant nothing more than money, but that didn’t matter for shit because all that did matter was what it looked like to Harry. And this didn’t look good.

Without waiting for permission, maybe thinking he had it in Louis’ lack of an answer, Alvin leant in and kissed him.

It was quick, a soft little peck-ish thing, but make it better. Maybe even worse. It wasn’t Alvin’s fault, he didn’t know better of it. It wasn’t Louis’ either, or Harry’s, or anyone else's. It was, however, much too sweet and gentle for ‘I’ll just go in there and use that dollar-sign for his last pocket-money’.

“See you, Louis,” Alvin said, walking off with a fond smile, “be safe.”

“Yeah, you too. Bye.” Louis drove his fingers through his hair, clutching the back of his head as he waited until Alvin had turned a corner.

Suddenly, he almost didn’t want to turn around and get in the van with Harry.

He did anyway, because doing anything but would only make this more horrible than it already was.

He didn’t speak as he opened the car-door and crawled into the passenger-seat, pinning his eyes to the dashboard before him.

Harry didn’t either.

He put the key in the ignition and pulled off the pavement without so much as a ‘hi’. Without looking at each other, they both knew he’d seen everything. Followed every movement, every little touch, sat there stuck in his seat and watched his boyfriend kiss another man. Any possible ice-breaker got stuck and strangled in Louis’ throat before it reached his lips. Nothing seemed good enough; too stupid, too pointless or too damn obviously averting the issue. Worst case scenario, he’d end up insulting Harry’s intelligence and/or the closeness of their relationship and best case, he’d just sound sarcastic and rude.

Both were shit and it seemed like a worst case scenario kind of car ride, so Louis kept his mouth shut.

 

When they finally arrived back at Tabatha’s, after not having uttered a single word for half an hour, Harry jumped out of the van and didn’t so much as bother to glance over his shoulder and check if Louis followed.

He disappeared into a bathroom and Louis was left alone in the hall, unlacing his shoes on shaky fingers.

“Freds needs a changing,” Lottie said, passing him toward the stairway. She made it to the first step, then stopped when Louis still hadn’t replied. “You all right, Lou?”

“Yeah, m’ fine, I’ll change him in a sec, don’t worry about it.”

His voice didn’t come out half as steady as he’d fought for it to and Lottie wasn’t half as stupid as her taste in boyfriends made her out to be.

She waited patiently until Louis was done unlacing his shoes, then studied his face for a couple of seconds and said, “bro, you look shit-blasted.”

Right. “Well… eh… yeah.”

She tapped her thumb to the stairway railing, still studying him much too intently. “No, Lou, you do actually look really sad,” she said, a worried line forming between her brows, “come here, I wanna hug you.”

“No, it’s- no, I’m fine.”

“I’ll rephrase, then. Come here, I want a hug from you.”

He complied then, stumbled into her outstretched arms and let her wrap them around him.

When the bathroom-door opened behind them and Harry’s slow steps moved closer, they were still holding each other, Lottie’s hands stroking circles on Louis’ back.

A hand came to rest on the side of Louis’ waist for a second, light and timid. Harry’s touch left as quick as it came, and a second later he was inching past Lottie and dragging himself up the stairs.

Lottie hugged Louis closer and if he’d had it in him, he’d have told her he loved her so much right then he might cry from it. But he didn’t have words and Lottie didn’t need them.

She ruffled her fingers into the back of his hair and whispered, “Harry isn’t the only one you can talk to about stuff, you know. I’m here too.”

He knew that. She always was when things really mattered. But it wasn’t her responsibility to mother him. “Thank you, Lots, but I’m really just tired, that’s all.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s- yeah, it’s fine. You need to get ready for school, I’m just gonna hang with Freds and the little ones, I’ll be fine.”

She smiled, fixing his fringe for him. “If you say so.”

Standing on the first step of the stairway, she had a few inches on him, her eyes soft like her hands around his face. For a moment, she reminded him of his mother, before he was old enough to realize she hadn’t hung the moon in the sky. That she hadn’t even hung around long enough to see him grow up.

“You don’t worry about me, Lots,” he said, forcing a little smile, “I’m always gonna be fine.”

“I know,” she pressed a kiss to his forehead, “but ‘fine’ is such a dull word, innit. And you’re anything but.”

 

She went to school with Fizzy and the lot and Louis took care of Freddie. He spent the day with him in his arms, enjoying the light breeze and the sun shining down on Tabatha’s little garden, watching on as she educated Doris and Ernest on botany and other things they tried to put in their mouths. Harry didn’t come outside all day and, as bad as it sounded, Louis didn’t mind. For once, it felt freeing to take a day just for the kids, just like it used to be, and not have to worry about his own well-being.

In the afternoon, Louis played with the toddlers in the living-room while Tabatha went grocery shopping and Harry tried to help Fizzy with her math homework. Or so it sounded, anyway. Louis couldn’t be sure, because he couldn’t bring himself to lift his head and look over at Harry.

Harry and Tabatha cooked and made everyone gather around the table for dinner. Chace ‘entertained’ the crowd with the riveting tale of how he rightly corrected his teacher during a history lesson (“humiliated the ground she walked on”- Chace, and “forever invalidated any good grade ever given by her, unless it had been given to himself, of course” – Chace, oh and also “Set her teacher’s certificate into proverbial flames, spewed by a dragon born in the dark Realm of Mortification” – you guessed it, also Chace) and then over-taken her job for the rest of class.

“I mean, she ended up sending me to the principal’s office for disruptive behavior,” he said, of course adding air quotes to the last part, “and, I mean, he did give me a note to take home to you, mum, but I tossed it in the bin because… well, we both know I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Really?” Tabatha smiled nervously, “but what did the note say, love?”

“Just some ridiculous spiel about my ‘intolerable behavior’ and ‘a disruptive put-on posh accent’, whatever that means. Oh, and something about the school counselor. Apparently, the principal’s a licensed psychiatrist now. Fat imbecile spews out diagnoses’ like he pops buttons on an XL-shirt.”

Louis nearly choked on a carrot trying not to laugh out loud. Across the table, he could hear Harry’s weird choking noise and knew that if he looked, he’d find Harry biting his lip white to keep a straight face. But he didn’t look up, because they weren’t speaking and they weren’t on terms to share knowing looks either. This was shit.

“So, what was your diagnonsense, then?” Fizzy yelled across the table. “That principle Fatkins – by the way, that’s a funny wordplay because his surname is Atkins and you know… he’s hella fat, so… - anyway, what was the diagnosis he spewed at you?”

Chace dabbed the corners of his mouth off before carefully folding his napkin and muttering, “Narcissistic personality disorder. Can you believe it?”

The table went quiet for a second. Then another second. And then the silence stretched for so long that Louis slowly started to fear Chace’s eyes might roll out of his head and into the bowl of mashed potatoes.

Finally, after a thousand years and a million awkward coughs, Fizzy said, “yeah. Yeah, I can believe it.”

“Beg your pissing _pardon_?!” Chace shoved the table so hard that chair screeched backwards across the floor. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life!”

“Don’t get me wrong here, I don’t think you’re a narcissist,” Fizzy said calmly, “but I _can_ believe that some fat imbecile, who’s just finished Psychology 101 on Kindle while taking his lunch-hour shit, might've thought it.”

“Wh- what- why- _what_?!” Chace hissed incredulously. “Why- what- how do you _speak_ like that?! Aren’t you like, twelve?!”

“And a quarter, thank you very much.” Fizzy rolled her eyes at Chace’s cherry-red face. “And chill the fuck out, girl, I _just_ told you that I don’t think that principal Twatkins is right. He’s not right. He’s just too stupid to realize being old doesn’t necessarily make him smart.”

Chace arched a brow, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Slowly, he pulled his chair back in position and tapped his fingers to the table. “You’re right about that,” he muttered, “I mean, Ratkins-”

“-Nailed it.”

“Thank you, thank you very much. – Ratkins is freaking ancient and he thinks that makes him knowledgeable. But I tell you a thing, Fizzy, I’m a million times smarter than any of the blockhead teacher’s at that school, I know that for a fact.”

Chace didn’t look up from his plate, but if he had, he would’ve caught the sarcastic glimpse in Fizzy’s eyes when she replied, “exactly, Chace. Some people are just too stupid to realize how incredibly stupid they sound, right?”

“Right,” Chace nodded, “I’m so sick and tired of those people.”

Slowly, everyone else began to eat again, red in the face from stifling their laugh to avoid setting Chace into a frenzy.

After a while, though, Fizzy couldn’t keep her mouth shut and had to add a few last words of twelve-and-a-half-year-old wisdom: “and I really do mean it when I say I don’t believe you have Narcissistic personality disorder, Chace,” she grinned when he looked up at her, “you’re not sick. You’re just a fuckin’ arsehole.”

*

“Oh my god, they’re still screaming,” Lottie said, escaping the living-room where Fizzy and Chace had moved their explosive world-war. She closed the bedroom door soundly behind her and then deflated on the bed beside Louis and the little ones. “Or, I mean, Chace is screaming. Fizzy’s just sitting there waiting for him to stop for air so she can push his buttons and set him off again. I hate her.”

“She’s twelve, cut her some slack.”

Lottie rolled around to look at Louis, eyes wide and eyebrows high. “But she’s _not_ twelve, Louis, that’s the thing. She’s, like, twenty-seven with a master’s degree in reading people.”

“You can take a master’s degree in reading people?”

“Probably not, but if it ever does become a thing then I’m sure they’ll have Fizzy come teach.”

Louis chuckled, rearranging Freddie on his chest and pressing a little kiss to the soft peach-fuzz on his head. “It is a bit unfair on Chace, I'll give you that. Pretty uneven when you’ve got two people arguing and one of them’s got about fifty IQ-points on the other.”

“Hey.” Lottie slapped his shoulder. “He’s not stupid.”

Louis raised a brow at her.

She slapped him again. “He’s really not, Louis. I’m not saying he’s, like, some genius, but- he’s not stupid. He’s just a little oblivious to… himself sometimes.”

“You don’t say.”

“But, like-” she fiddled with a loose string on Louis’ hoodie. “He knows so much stuff. And he likes to talk about it. And he’s really good at remembering details and everythin’. For instance, he’s got this, like, obsession with the English dynasty. He knows everything about all of the kings and queens and all the little scandals way back to the fourteen-hundreds and stuff. He’s not all boring, once you get him on the right topic.”

Louis petted her cheek. “You honestly like to hear him rant about the English dynasty for hours?”

She shrugged a shoulder, rolling onto her back. “Like to hear him talk, just- about anything, really. If it interests him and he can go on about it for ages. I dunno, I just… like it. The look he gets in his eye.”

Louis smiled. “God, you’re so screwed, Lots.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” she snorted, “if what I have with Chace makes me screwed then what you have with Harry makes you fucking jack-hammered.”

“Jack-hammered,” he laughed, “God, that’s a brilliant word, innit? Jack-hammered… Oh, it’d be even better if you had a boyfriend named Jack, and then-”

“What’s going on with you and Harry?”

Right. No. “I don’t know what you-”

“Oh, come off it, Louis. I’m not blind and I’m not stupid either. One minute you guys are all over each other like one of you’s about to go off to war and the next you can’t even look in each other’s direction.”

Louis sighed. He hitched Freddie up a little, so his soft little head fit underneath Louis’ chin, the warmth of his tiny body steadying his nerves. “Well… I don’t know how much you know about what’s been going on, but I get the sense that you know more than what I’ve told you so far.”

She nodded. “I think I… I’ve spoken to Harry a little bit about it and- yeah, he didn’t tell me directly where you guys’ve been going these lasts couple days, but I- I think I’ve gotten a sense of it.” She closed her eyes for a second, resting her face down on a pillow, “and I get so worried about you, Lou.”

The words stung, right in the part of him that was resigned to do anything to keep his younger siblings from going through the same things he had at their age. Louis bit on the insides of his cheeks, trying to find the right words to respond. There weren’t really any, so he just ended up on; “you shouldn’t worry. I’m fine.”

“I can’t help it, I-” her voice cracked over and it cut at Louis’ chest. “I just want you to be safe,” she whispered, rolling her eyes upwards to dry out the dampness that had accumulated in her waterline. She reached a hand over and covered Louis’ with it. “I don’t want you to do things that- that make you look so sad. You look so sad, Lou.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, burying it in the pillow. He stroked her back, unsure of what to say to make it better. He hated himself.

“I just,” she said, lifting her head again, “I love Harry and I think he’s great with you and- and us. He’s lovely. But when you guys aren’t speaking it affects all of us. Because you need each other to get through whatever this is. When you don’t, you both look so miserable it makes my heart hurt just watching you.” She wiped her runny nose with the back of her sleeve and gave a sad little smile. “I just want mummy and daddy to kiss and make up, is that too much to ask?”

He chuckled. The way she said it, she made it sound so simple. “I will go and talk to him. But it’s not… it’s not about me right now. He’s… having a hard time coping with stuff and I’m not sure how to approach him without making it worse.”

“Do you mind me asking exactly what’s happened?”

Yes, was the honest answer. “No,” was the one he gave her. “It’s- well, you sort of know what it is we’ve been doing lately, right? Or- what I’ve been doing.”

“I think – think so, yeah.”

He bit his lip, moving his gaze to the ceiling. “Uhm, and… you know… You can know that what you’re doing is the only thing you can do. That it’s the only right thing to do in some sick fucked-up way. So you’ve just got to pull through. But- but it’s hard for someone to… it’s something near impossible to just turn off your feelings, even if you want to for a bit. ‘Cause it’s not like you’ve got this magic switch and… yeah, it’s shit sometimes… having feelings.” He glanced over at her, “did that make any sense at all?”

“Yeah,” she squeezed his shoulder gently, “I just hope he can get over it, then. For your sake.”

 

*

“Hiya,” Lottie said, slowly opening the door to Chace’s bedroom. “D’you mind if I come in?”

He was lying on his bed with a cup of tea and Beyond Good and Evil by Friedrich Nietzsche. For all of the time Lottie had known him, he’d had the book lying out on his nightstand, but whenever she caught him actually opening it, he’d been on the second page.

“Your sister’s incredibly deluded,” he said as Lottie crawled into bed with him. “Impossible to argue with her. She’s not very perceptive for her age. You might wanna have her checked for developmental issues or summat.”

“Hm.”

Lottie cuddled up to his side, resting her head on his chest. He linked her arm around her shoulder, but didn’t lower the book he wasn’t reading.

“She should open a book once in a while,” he continued, “would really help her get a better perspective on the world around her.”

“Yeah…”

“She’s like that kid, Chris, who was in my class – remember him? – the guy who used to argue me against death penalty, but whenever I explained to him why it should be made legal in England, he’d just start spewing all this pseudo-intellectual bullshit at me. God, that guy was such a pretentious arse.”

“Hm… wasn’t he the one who was nominated for the Young Mind Awards?”

“Yeah,” Chace snorted, “didn’t even win, the stupid blockhead.”

They lied for a bit, Chace reading, or at least pretending to be, and Lottie playing with his fingers and listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. After a while, he gave up on the book and pulled out his phone instead. Lottie drew hearts on his chest and breathed in the scent of his perfume.

“Babe,” she said after having been lost in thought for a while, “what would you do if I had to sleep with another guy for money?”

“What the hell kind of question is that? Why on earth would you ever have to sleep with someone for money when you live in a country with a proper – albeit pretty corrupted, come to think of it – tax system?”

“I don’t know, it’s just hypothetical, Chace. Like… say I was in really bad debt to some horrible drug-lord and I absolutely had no other option. And I had to sleep with another guy to get money fast.”

“You’re not gonna prostitute yourself.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Babe, I told you, it’s only hypothetical. I’m only _asking_ – what would you do if we were in a situation where I had to do that or I’d, like, be killed or summat?”

He didn’t answer for a while.

When he’d been quiet for so long that she thought he’d decided to ignore the question entirely, he finally said, “well, if we were ever in such an incredibly unrealistic situation, which would never bloody happen in real life, then I guess I’d just have to live with it, then. If it was life or death.”

She swallowed, curling the fabric of his shirt up in her hand. “But how d’you reckon you’d feel? Wouldn’t it be horrible? To know that I’d been with someone else while I was with you?”

Again, he paused for ages. “I don’t know,” he said, after she’d been holding her breath waiting, “I guess I’d have to be fine with it.”

Her heart sank.

Lottie wasn’t stupid. Her actions and her choices sometimes made her look it to other people, she knew that. But she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she was the one who has hooked on Chace and not the other way around. She’d always sort of known that he’d leave once he met someone who’d make him feel even more adored than she could. She’d known that from the start. But-

_It’s shit sometimes… having feelings._

And it would’ve been nice, was all. If he could just tell a lie, just this once, just for her sake. Spare her the sting of the honest truth, even if only for the moment.

She moved off of his chest and rolled onto her back on the mattress, trying to swallow down the hard lump in her throat.

She’d been strong once, somewhere in the faded memories of her life before she’d fallen in love. She’d been someone who could choose out of reason and not be bound by this insatiable need to please a person who, when it came down to the brutal truth of it all, didn’t really care either way.

She hadn’t been so weak, once upon a time.

But that was then and this was now and she was just as in love as she’d still be tomorrow. “I love you,” she said, staring up at the ceiling.

“Love you too,” he replied, automatically, staring at his phone.

It was funny, she thought, wiping a stray tear off her cheek. How two people could say exactly the same thing and mean it in two entirely different ways. Which way he meant it, she wasn’t sure. Whether he even meant it at all.

And then she said something she never thought she’d have dared. Maybe she was brave tonight. Maybe she was just too weak to stop herself. “I think I love you more than you love me.”

He sighed. She held her breath.

She didn’t want her heart to thunder in her chest so hard it might burst out of there. She didn’t want her throat to close up or her body to light on fire quick as nothing, ignited like she’d been soaked in gasoline. She didn’t want it to matter so much, because it _didn’t_ matter, it really didn’t. She was sixteen years old and in love with a pretentious arse who didn’t care and in five years it wouldn’t matter at all, and she knew all that, but right then, right there, lying in his bed, it mattered so much she might die from it.

“Lottie,” he said calmly, “you know I don’t think it’s healthy to have so reassure each other all the time,” he flicked his phone off and sighed, “so you won’t hear me say this very often, but you seem particularly needy tonight, don’t ask me why. But listen,” then he looked at her, finally. He had her heart right there, tight in his grip, ready to smash whenever he didn’t feel like carrying it any longer. And he said, “if you ever had to sleep with some other guy for money or whatever, because we were in some hypothetical trouble then, of course… yeah.”

He pushed off the bed.

“Of course. It’s just the way guys are when they love someone,” he said, heading for the bathroom, “I’d want to rip my bloody chest out.”

She didn’t let her breath out before he’d closed the door behind him. She lied there, burning from her toes to her neck, with his pillow pressed to her face, her fingertips buzzing in the linen that smelled like him.

_I'd want to rip my bloody chest out._

It was shit sometimes; having feelings. And sometimes, just once in a blue moon, it was so fucking intoxicating.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance if there are some weirdly placed spaces between sentences and quotation-marks and stuff like that. I've just gotten a new computer and am trying to figure out the new word-system. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy :D

 

“Louis.”

Louis was lying on the bed, early evening, wondering where his phone was and whether he should find it in case Alvin called. He and Harry hadn’t spoken about what had happened the other morning and why that had made Harry give Louis the silent treatment for the entire rest of the day. Louis had been too cautious and Harry - well, Harry had been too damn hard to read.

In the evening, though, when they’d been lying in bed with the lights off, Louis had found the courage to put his lips to Harry’s ear and whisper “I’m sorry babe”. Harry had replied that Louis had nothing to be sorry for and then they’d been quiet again. After a bit, though, Harry had wrapped an arm around him and pulled him in. Then he’d whispered, as the last thing before they’d fallen asleep, “I’m sorry too. I love you.”

So today, the mood hadn’t been so tense. Not so hostile, anyway.  That wasn’t to say it’d been cheerful or chatty or even just normal. In fact, Louis couldn’t remember a single interaction between them all day that hadn’t started with ‘could you pass the salt, please’ or ‘do you wanna shower before or after me’ and ended seconds later.

But it’d been bettering, still.

Now, though, it seemed to have taken a turn for the worse again, judging from the look in Harry’s eyes. Standing there at the side of the bed, he was towering over Louis, looking hostile as ever with his hand fisted so tensely around something that his arm muscles twitched from it.

“Harry,” Louis pinged back, belatedly, “what? What’s in your hand?”

“Your cell.”

“Oh. Great, thanks, babe.” Louis shifted up onto his elbows, reaching an arm out for the phone, but it was impossible to grab it, because Harry’s arm wouldn’t move off the side of his body. “Hand it over, then,” Louis hissed, “what’s the matter with you?”

Harry swallowed, hard, before he finally handed the phone over. “Alvin already called,” he muttered as Louis began to check his calls.

Louis’ head snapped up. “ _What_? What, when did he-”

“Just now.”

Wait. Wait, wait, _wait_ . Louis’ mouth scrunched into an O. “Hang on- hang on a minute. You picked _up_?”

“Yes.”

“ _You_ picked up?!”

“Yes, Louis, I-”

“Are you fucking stupid?!” Louis shouted, because he knew Harry wasn’t, not by far, and he’d still somehow reached the conclusion in his mind that picking up Alvin’s call was an un-stupid thing to do. It was so incomprehensible that Louis might laugh if he wasn’t so fucking livid. “You can’t pick up for me, he doesn’t want to know that I have a man in my house!”  

Harry snorted dryly, kicking at the floor. “Bet he doesn’t.”

Christ. “Harry, would you _please-_ ” Louis’ patience had never been anything to brag about and Harry’s passive-aggressive behavior was getting on it’s last nerve already, “please, just tell me if you’re mad about something. I apologized to you last night and you told me I didn’t need to, but you’re still acting like I’ve done something terrible to you and I– I _have_ , I know that I have, but you went along with it, for fucks sake. So tell me, _please_ , for the love of god, what’s going on in your head? Talk to me, man.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Harry replied, staring at the floor, and it looked like the truth, but that just wouldn’t cut it.

“Then come,” Louis patted the mattress, hard, “sit down,” he waited for Harry to comply, “and then please, _please_ , tell me that you didn’t just fuck up our last way of gathering the money we owe.”

“I-”

“Oh for _fuck’s_ sake!” Louis’ phone was out of his hand before he realized  it was his own doing, and then it flung across the room, smashing to pieces against the wall across from them.

“ _Louis_ ,” Harry snapped, “calm down, would you please.”

Calm down. _Calm down_ … Louis threw himself back on the bed, bouncing hard against the mattress, and clutched his face. “Oh my _god…_ ” he groaned into his hands, “what did you even fucking say to him? God, I hate you right now – _fuck_ – did – okay, are we talking irreparable damage here or just-”

“Irreparable.”

Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over his knees, still like stone.

Louis bored his thumbs into his temples, fighting the urge to kick him in the sacrum. “What... the… _fuck_ ,” he managed slowly, “did you say to him?”

“I- look, it wasn’t- uhm… _God_ ,” Harry fumbled. Louis kicked him in the sacrum. Harry didn’t move out of his seat, but he snatched Louis’ foot by the ankle, holding it still on a hard grip. “Don’t fucking kick me,” he said, voice calm, but hard, “do _not_ fucking kick me like a five-year-old child.”

“Then tell me what the fuck you said to him, for fuck’s sake! Can’t be that fucking hard to get a sentence out ya slow fuckin’ skull, can it?!.”

“Don’t yell at me,” Harry replied, voice unchanged, “do not get violent and do not yell at me and do not throw things when you’re angry. Give me a second to gather my bloody words or I’m walking out of that door without telling you shit.”

Louis sighed, hard like a hiss. “Gather your stupid words, then,” he managed in a slightly calmer voice.

A few seconds passed.

“Okay,” Harry said, big clumsy hands gesturing toward nothing, “okay, right- so, uhm… I was stood in the bathroom when your phone went off. You’d left it on the counter so I went to have a look. And it said his name, right?”

“Yes...?”

“And so I- I- shit, I can’t explain the thought process ‘cause there fuckin’ wasn’t any, I just- I just clicked, all right? I saw his name and that image - that _fuckin’_ image of the other morning - got back in my head and I just- clicked. So I took the call and,” he pushed a hard sigh out through his teeth, “- and the first thing this motherfucker says is ‘it’s me’. And I- like, _no_ . No, you don’t say ‘it’s me’ like to my fuckin’ boyfriend. You don’t call up _my_ fuckin’ boyfriend and say ‘it’s me’ like you mean _fuck-all_ to him.”

His voice had raised to the verge of yelling and Louis could make a snarky remark about not following your own orders, but he didn’t because he’d never heard Harry cuss this much in one sentence and he didn’t know whether he’d snap completely at the slightest provocation.

“So,” Louis cleared his throat, “what exactly did you say to him?”

“I can’t…” Harry buried into his hands, boring the fingers of his free hand through his down his scalp. “I…”

“You can’t remember?”

“No, I-” his hand was tensing around Louis’ ankle, grip so tight it was becoming painful, “I said a load of shit, okay? I just went off. I snapped and I went off on him. ’Cause I can’t- he can’t,” the vein popping out up the side of his neck looked seconds from exploding, “-he can’t call _my_ fuckin’ boyfriend up like that, he can’t kiss _my_ fuckin’ boyfriend like that, he can’t- he can’t touch _my_ fuckin’ boyfriend!”

“God, Harry...” Louis swallowed hard, trying to find words that wouldn’t set Harry into the frenzy he seemed right on the verge of, “so, did he say anything back? After you went off on him?”

“Pff,” Harry snorted dryly, kicking one of Freddie’s pacifiers across the floor, “said ‘who’s this?’ and so - so, I told him who I fuckin’ was. And if- and if he ever fuckin’ called my fuckin’ boyfriend up again I’d beat the living shit out of him.”

“Jesus, Harry, you-”

“And I would,” Harry cut through, head snapping around to look at Louis, brows high and eyes fiery, “I _would_ beat the living fuckin’ shit out of him. Sorry. _Shit_ ,” he punched the mattress, “shit.”

“Yeah.” Louis nodded, trying to process the information and straining not to think of the consequences of them right that second. If he did he might punch Harry again and, judging from the vein in his neck, he might punch Louis right back. “yeah,” he sighed, pinning his gaze to a stain in the ceiling, “bloody fuckin’ shit, Harry.”

They stayed still for a while, trying to get their blood to stop pumping through their veins like they might both transform into the Hulk in a second.

Louis tried, he really tried, not to be angry with Harry. To understand. And he did, he did understand. Didn’t make him one bit less livid, though.

Harry deflated on the bed beside him, tugging at his own hair.

“What the hell do you suppose we do now, then?” Louis asked after whatever amount of time it took him to be able to speak without screaming, “what the hell is your plan now, Harry? Now that you’ve fucked up our last option with your incredible lack of just the tiniest slither of self-control, then?”

“Don’t be a cunt.”

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot be,” Louis snapped back, “I’m angry and, yeah I’m a cunt, and _fuck_ , do I get to be. I get to be fuckin’,” he grabbed a pillow, smashing it against Harry’s heavy body, “fuckin’ _livid_ with you, you stupid fuckin’ cunt.”

Harry wrestled the pillow out of Louis’ hands and launched it across the room.

After that, they lied beside each other, panting at the ceiling, for another long while.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said eventually, “god, I just snapped, I’m so sorry, babe.”

“Hey,” Louis snorted, pushing off the bed, “don’t apologize to me, I don’t give a fuck about me. Apologize to the kids for being so selfish that you’ve dragged them all into this.”

“Shit, Louis, I-”

“Yeah, you’re sorry, I know,” Louis sighed, grabbing the door handle, “but fucking up and being sorry means nothing when you keep fucking up again, mate. We’re done here. I’m going for fag. Don’t follow me.”

“Louis, hold on, can you just wait a sec so I can-” his voice cracked and Louis knew that if he turned around right then, he’d find Harry’s eyes welling up, his poor pink bottom lip wobbling.

But he didn’t turn around.

He didn’t turn around, because Harry being sorry - Harry being genuinely, truthfully sorry -  meant fuck-all to him. Being sorry once was all right. Being sorry twice was thinking that the first sorry meant he could fuck-up again and sorry would make it all better. But sorry wasn’t enough here. Sorry meant fuck-all and Harry could cry all he wanted and every fiber in Louis’ still body screamed for him to go and hold him and he didn’t.

He said, “don’t fuckin’ sob, you’re a grown man” and went out for a fag.

And _fuck_ , did he feel sorry too. Sorry for not consoling Harry even though he didn’t deserve it, sorry for dragging the kids into something they didn’t even understand, sorry for having a fucking fag for the first time in a week.

So fucking sorry that he’d been stupid enough to fall into the trap of ever trusting anyone else with anything again.


	27. Chapter 27

It wasn't before nine pm the following day that Louis saw Harry again. He'd driven off while Louis was out for his fag last night and Louis hadn't wanted call, nor text him. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Part of him always wanted to have Harry near, even when he didn't much feel like speaking to him. Part of him always wanted to reach out and sometimes that part was stronger than his own integrity. 

But Freddie had been stroppy all night, unwilling to sleep or keep quiet, so Louis had had his hands full. Without Harry there and with Tabatha out at a friend's house for the night, Louis had no one to take the baby off his hands, not even for a minute. He probably would've caved, probably had, probably couldn't get the itching urge to call Harry out of his head all night, but it was no use when Freddie was being so fussy that Harry wouldn't be able to hear Louis if he did. Call it a blessing in disguise. Call it whatever you want. Louis wouldn't have the time to care.

 

Around noon, Freddie finally seemed to have found peace. Louis was sitting in the livingroom in his sweats, baby sound asleep in his arms, watching an old episode of TOWIE. Katie Price was currently sobbing about her acrylic nails or summat and Louis was sat there with a four-month-old in his arms, worried about gathering less than the cost of said nails to pay back a dangerous drug-lord. He supposed their situations were somewhat similar.

“Hello?” a voice called out from the hall as the front door was opened.

Nobody ever bothered locking it, not even Tabatha herself, but Louis supposed she had the money to pay for a new tellie if she had a break-in. Then he glanced at the flatscreen-telly again and wondered how much he could get for it if he stole it right now.

Then Harry called out “hello?” again and walked into the livingroom.

“Hey,” Louis muttered, not moving his gaze from Katie’s scrunched-up HD-face.

“Oh, hey,” Harry said, as his walking-pace slowed down, ever so indescretely, the second he layed his eyes on Louis. “You watching TOWIE?”

“Yeah.”

Harry rested back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “God, she’s got some crazy veneers, in'she?”

“Yeah,” Louis muttered, and then couldn’t stop himself from adding on, “had to change the channel before ‘cause Freddie was going blind just from watching her.”

Harry gave a low cackle.

They went silent for a bit, even as the commercial break came on and a woman with a stitched-up face was trying to sell menstrual pads by associating them with being an always-on-the-go successful career-woman.

“You can sit down, you know,” Louis muttered, when Harry shifted weight for the sixth time.

“I’m all right,” Harry muttered back, but slipped onto the couch seconds later anyway.

The show came back on and Katie was getting her cracked nail fixed while ranting to a chinese manicurist, who looked like she’d been instructed to just ‘smile and nod, smile and nod, don’t worry that you don’t understand a word of English, just smile and nod’, about her bitchy back-stabbing girlfriend.

“Where’s Tab?”

“At a friend’s house,” Louis said, rearranging Freddie on his chest to fend off the bit of anxiety that always came with having been in a fight with Harry and trying not to say the wrong thing afterwards, “I mean, that’s what she said last night anyway. But she’s been gone since then, so I think she’s got a new man or summat.”

“Oh, what a little slag, her,” Harry grinned. Well, Louis didn’t check his expression, but he could hear the grin in his voice.

“Yeah, she’s a right little minx, in’she? Going out all night without telling us who with.”

“Bet he’s minted,” Harry half-laughed, “with a bleached comb-over and a fake American accent.”

“Always wearing a suit and talking about how he’s travelled the world on business.”

“Pops three Viagra’s just to get through a handie.”

Louis gave in, barking a loud laugh. Harry joined in until Freddie started making a fuss and stirring at Louis’ chest.

“Shh, shh, it’s all right, bud,” Louis said, bopping him lightly, “it’s all right, go back to sleep, sweetheart, daddy needs to watch his show. You know he can’t go a day without knowing what Katie’s been up to.”

Harry laughed lowly and Louis took it in.

Once Freddie had quieted down again, Louis blurted the first thing on his mind; “where have you been all night?”

“Driving,” Harry replied. Louis gave in and glanced over at him. He was watching the telly, but his eyes were glassy, like his mind was elsewhere. “Just driving around.”

“Aren’t you knackered?”

He fiddled with a loose string on throw pillow he’d drawn into his lap. “Dunno. Yeah, i guess. But… not because i haven’t slept. Not entirely, anyway.” He looked up then, offering Louis a small, sardonic smile. “I feel shit.”

“Yeah.” Louis sighed, rolling his gaze onto the telly again because he couldn’t stand the sad look in Harry’s eyes. “Yeah, me too. Sorry I kicked and screamed yesterday. Wasn’t very mature, was it.”

“Was completely justified, though.”

“Yeah.” Louis smiled, a little. “Felt pretty good, too.”

Harry reached a hand over warily, then squeezed Louis’ shoulder when he didn’t move away. “You can kick me again if you want. Beat me up. I deserve it.”

“Give me a minute to put Freddie down and I’ll come back and take you up on that,” Louis said, getting off the couch.

He did go and put Freddie down in his crib, then made himself and Harry a cup of tea and came back to the living-room.

The telly was muted now and Harry had pulled his knee’s up under his chin, arms linked around his legs. He watched Louis with big, worried eyes until he’d put the tea’s they weren’t going to drink to the coffee-table and sat down beside him.

“So,” Louis said, mimicking Harry’s sitting position, and forcing himself to meet his eyes, “what do we do now?”

“I guess we - I -  I guess _I_ will ask Tabby for a loan when she comes home,” Harry said, “fifteen-hundred isn’t that much for her, I think. I reckon she’ll say yes.”

“Yeah.” Louis had come to the same conclusion. Didn’t much fancy the idea of asking Tabatha for anything more, but fancied the idea of not paying the drug-guy his full amount back in time even less. “I hope she won’t feel used, though.”

“No, me neither. But I’ll - we can,” Harry tugged at the zipper on the side of his trackies, chewing on his lip, “I mean, as long as I, or we, or whatever… as long as I pay her back when I can and… show her that i do really like her and feel so grateful for all that she’s done…”

“Yeah. She’ll be fine.”

Harry nodded down at his zipper. “I still feel shit, though.”

“You should.”

“I do.”

“Me too.”

Harry looked up then, pushing his bottom lip out at Louis. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

He _was_ sorry. He meant it when he said it. He meant everything he said, even the stuff he’d said to Alvin on the phone last night. And Louis, Louis would’ve meant excactly the same, had their roles been reversed. Nobody touched his Harry, nobody kissed his Harry or called him up and said ‘it’s me’. He’d feel so shitty he’d rip his own chest out if it’d been him. Sorry still didn’t carry much meaning to Louis, but he couldn’t see a time that Harry ever wouldn’t. Not with those eyes, big and damp and earnest. Not with that mouth, pink and pouty and childish. Not with that body, big and strong and so weak sometimes that Louis just wanted to pack it up and put it in his pocket.

There wasn’t much to do about it. There wasn’t much to say. They had to do what they had to do and then take it day by day. Things _had_ changed between after all that had gone down, and maybe Harry’s feelings and intentions with Louis had too, but Louis couldn’t change how he felt, even if he wanted to.

And he still felt as in love as he had the first time Harry kissed him, up against the trailer-home that didn’t exist anymore.

“I still love you even though you’re shit,” he said, inching across the couch-pillow seperating them, and into Harry’s lap, “I still want,” he linked his arms around Harry’s neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “you. Still want you all the time, I can’t help it.”

“I still want-”

“I don’t care what you want right now,” Louis cut through, hugging him closer. “I just want to be selfish for a second and care about what I want. And I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Harry bit at his shoulder, grabbed at his arse, “yeah, ‘course. Course I’ll fuck you if you want, baby.”

They went upstairs and locked the bedroom door just to be on the safe side.

As Harry rummaged around in his duffel-bag, Louis settled the baby monitor on the nightstand. Once Harry had retrieved a bottle of lube and a condom, Louis rested back against the pillows and parted his legs for him.

“Do you want to be on top or?” Harry asked, resting the lube and condom on the mattress beside Louis. “Or want me to just-”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever asked if I wanted to be on top,” Louis said, raking his fingers through Harry’s long hair, “you always want to pin me down.”

Harry nudged his nose into the dip of Louis’ collarbones and muttered, “well, you seem to prefer that.”

“Oh, don’t play the good guy, I know you prefer it too." 

Harry just lifted his head and gave him a shrug and a sheepish grin, the little hypocrite.

“But,” Louis stifled a little gasp as Harry moved his cool lips down his throat, “if you want, _I_ can fuck _you_.”

“Mhm,” Harry murmured against his skin, the low vibration sending a ripple down Louis’ spine. He grabbed at Harry’s shoulder blades to tug him closer and have his hips roll against his own. “I thought this was about what you wanted right now,” and before Louis could snap back at him, “and you know I’m not that keen on bottoming.”

Louis smiled and pressed his heels to Harry’s arse through his trackies to feel his growing cock against his own. He did know that. He absolutely loved that. “I’ll ride you,” he said, gently pushing Harry’s shoulders to roll him onto his back. When he saw the questioning look in Harry’s eyes, he straddled him and pressed his arse down on Harry’s cock to make him hiss through his nostrils. “I _want_ ,” he said firmly, “to ride you. So you better fuckin’ let me.”

Harry lifted his palms with a grin. “Hey, I’m not objecting.”

Louis stayed in Harry’s lap, opening himself up on three fingers. He pulled them out before he was all that ready, because Harry kept watching him, kept touching him all over and trying to look right through him with those eyes, those eyes that he had. It was much too much for right now. Being looked at like that. 

“Jeez,” Louis said, rolling the condom on, “don’t you ever blink?”

“Why would I?”

“Don’t be soppy.” It came out so cold it almost seemed serious. Maybe it was, a little bit.

Louis rested two palms on Harry’s chest and lined Harry’s cock up at his rim. He had to whack Harry’s hands off twice before he was seated, because Harry wanted to help, wanted to touch, wanted to look. Louis didn’t need it, not right then.

He’d had enough of it, being grabbed and tossed and told what to do. Right then, sitting on Harry’s cock and feeling how insufficiently he’d fingered himself first in the most physical sense of the words, he was in control. He wasn’t obliged to do anything he didn’t want, he wasn’t being paid to let someone touch where he didn’t want them to, he wasn’t being paid to moan when he didn’t like it. He could whack Harry’s hands off his body whenever he touched and it’d be his choice. His control.

“Jesus Christ, Louis,” Harry groaned, throwing his head back on the pillow, “fuck, are you usually this tight?”

Louis shushed him, ignored the sting of the stretch his body hadn’t been ready for, and lifted himself up and down on Harry’s cock, fast.

Harry bit his lip, threw his head back and forth, tried to touch and got his wrists pinned to the mattress, tried to watch and got his jaw pushed sideways into the pillow.

Tried to speak and got a hand smacked over his mouth.

He frowned up at Louis, trying to wrestle out of his hand. Louis lifted himself almost all the way up and pushed down again, stifling a wince, taking in the pain. His pain, his control, his choice.

Harry managed to free one of his wrists and yanked Louis’ hand off his mouth, face an intoxicating mix of a frown and arrousal. “Slow down, babe,” he panted, then moaned out loud as Louis did the opposite. “I, _ungh_ , babe, you don’t even look like you’re enjoyin’ it.”

“You do,” Louis snapped back, raking his fingers into Harry’s hair, yanking it hard. “Oh, you love it, you fucking hypocrite.”

“I, _fuck_ , yes, but-” Harry panted, ripping Louis’ hand out of his hair and trying to intertwine their fingers. It only earned him a slap. Harry ran his hand up Louis’ thigh, tried to touch him where his cock stretched him open and got his hand whacked off, the loud slap resounding through the bedroom. “Baby,” he hissed over a moan, “let me touch you.”

“No.” Louis pinned his hands down again and Harry didn’t bother to fight it this time.

His head fell back again and Louis sped up, lifting half-way off and slamming himself down again. He kept going, fast, hard, till his thigh-muscles ached almost as bad as his arsehole. Till beads of sweat were running from his neck down through the ripples in his torso. Till he couldn’t keep going for one second longer without passing out and then some more.

Till Harry wouldn’t stop fucking watching him like that. “Stop,” Louis panted, “fucking,” he slapped a hand over Harry’s eyes, which Harry immediately ripped off, “staring at me.”

“Shut, _ah-_ shut up,” Harry hissed back, cheeks stained red and pelvis twitching like he was already on the verge of orgasm. “Get down here,” he managed, “kiss me.”

“No.”

Harry screwed his eyes shut, letting Louis ride him for another second. Then they shot open again, fiery suddenly, and he hissed, “all right, _stop_.”

“No.”

Both his hands flew to Louis’ hips, so fast he couldn’t manage to stop them, grabbing onto him hard enough to make lasting marks. “Stop when i tell you to. _Fuck’s_ sake, man,” Harry hissed, staring at him incredulously, “what the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing, what the hell is going on with you? We’re fucking, right? We're fucking. So stop being a little bitch about it.”

Harry blinked at him, speechless. His nails were digging into Louis’ skin and it stung, bad, but Louis wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him to ease off. “Why won’t you let me touch you? And look at you?”

“I- shut up,” Louis made a point of only staring at the wall above Harry’s head from now on. His eyes were too open, too knowing, too fucking much. “Shut the fuck up, you said we could do it my way.”

“I never said we could do it like this,” Harry replied firmly, his pants becoming slower and farther between, “you might as well be fucking one of your customer's right now, the way you’re doing it.”

Louis knew his face reacted before his mind did. Knew Harry saw it, in the way his jaw went slack, in the micro-second flinch in his expression. He schooled his features quickly, put his face back on, but it was too late.

Harry’s hand moved up his sides, gently. “Shit, I didn’t mean that. Sorry, babe, I didn’t-”

“Whatever.”

Louis pulled off, wanting to get away from him, wanting to get out, wanting to wash his skin so badly.

But Harry was faster. Stronger. He had an arm hooked around Louis’ waist so fast he couldn’t stop it, and then had Louis squeezed close in a second. “Don’t leave,” he said, “come on, don’t be a child.”

Louis kicked at the streets, demonstrative like a child. He’d be a fucking child if he wanted to. He’d be anything Harry didn’t want him to be. Anything _anyone_ didn’t want him to be. His choice. “Let me leave.”

“Let me fuck you.”

Louis’ dick twitched, still throbbing from the persistent pressure on his spot. “How?”

It took a second before Harry replied, his pants coming through like damp little hisses against the sweaty hairs sticking to the nape of Louis’ neck. “Doggy,” he said eventually, “get on all fours and I’ll fuck you so you don’t have to look at me.”

It came out cold, and it was.

“Okay,” Louis replied, just as coldly.

He scrambled onto his hands and knees, legs quivering with exhaustion.

Harry grabbed his hips, right where it hurt, and pushed into him again. Louis gave a loud groan at the sting of it, fisting the sheets so hard his knuckles went white.

“Take it,” Harry said, pulling half-way out and slamming into him again, “take it like that, that’s how you wanted it, right?”

“Yes,” Louis gritted out against the mattress where he’d pushed his face down to muffle his winces, “yes, come on.”

Harry moved a hand up Louis' spine, grabbed the back of his hair and yanked his face out of the sheets, making his back arch, and then slammed into him again, hard. He sped up quickly, and the sting of his nails at Louis’ hipbone was quickly blurred by the ruthlessness of his thrusts, every single one slapping loudly through the room.

It hurt, _god_ it hurt, but Louis wanted it, had asked for it, took it because he could and it was his choice.

Every time he dropped his head from a thrust, Harry yanked his hair back, pushed the middle of his back downwards and yanked his hips back in place. Every time he groaned too loud, swore or hissed, Harry went harder, even spanked him once, a stinging slap to the underside of his arse.

“That’s how you wanted it,” Harry panted, grabbing Louis’ cock to strip him off, “that’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” He slapped Louis again, up the back of his thigh this time, to make him wince out loud, “isn’t it?”

“Yes, I, _ungh_ \- yes, I’m gonna come,” Louis managed, voice hardly a hiss.

He came hard, all over Harry’s hands and the bed, wrecking the sheets beneath them.

Harry draped himself over his back, fucking him on hard half-pull outs. Minutes later, he came too, groaning into the back of Louis’ shoulder.

He pulled out as soon as he’d finished, dumping down on the mattress beside Louis with a loud thump.

Louis collapsed on his stomach, drained to his toes, dirty and sore and covered in come. He buried into his arms, scolding himself for feeling disappointed that Harry didn’t immediately pull him close, even though he knew he’d have pushed him off if he’d tried to.

“Was that,” Harry said, voice wrecked, “was that how he fucked you?”

Louis dragged himself up and left the room without a word. He needed a shower. So badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to note that none of what goes on in this chapter is 'rapey'. It might seem it a little bit, but they've both stated clearly that they're okay with it, and I'd never write that Harry fucked Louis like that unless Louis had specifically stated that he wanted it. Which he did. Hope you enjoyed :)


	28. Chapter 28

“Heeeloooo,” Lottie called out, coming home from school around three in the afternoon. “Anybody hoo-oome?”

“Move it,” Chace said, inching past her, “my bladder’s about to burst!”

Lottie giggled at him, running tight-legged to the bathroom in his little skinny jeans, manically shedding coat and backpack as he went. She hung his coat for him and took his bag up to his room. Just as she'd turned his telly on and kicked back, waiting for him to come up and cuddle, the door was opened.

“Hurry, babe, there’s a TOWIE-marathon on,” she said, before looking up and realising it wasn’t Chace in the door. “Oh. Hi, Lou.”

Louis was hanging halfway in, halfway out of the room, hair wet and t-shirt soaked, clinging to his chest. He looked like he’d jumped in the shower and then jumped into his clothes so fast afterwards that he’d forgotten to dry himself in the process. “Hi,” he muttered, “is Chace here? Wouldn't want to stunt his TOWIE-marathon watching.”

“Downstairs loo. He doesn’t like the one’s at school so he’s probably having a massive pony as we speak.”

Louis cackled. “God, did he put it like that? Doesn’t sound like his words.”

“Nah,” Lottie shifted to the side of the bed and waited for Louis to come sit with her, “according to him, he doesn’t even have a bowel system.”

“That’s more like it,” Louis grinned. “Lucky chap, doesn’t have to worry about shitting and other sub-human things.”

“Innit.”

Louis rested back against the pillows, giving a long sigh. Lottie waited, watching the telly without really watching, until he finally spoke; “did you hear about Tabby and her man?”

“What? No, Tabby’s got a man?”

Louis shushed her, eyes flicking around as if he feared they were being wire-tapped. “She’s in her bedroom right now. She came home about ten minutes ago.”

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but- she was sobbin’ and talking about being used. Apparently this mug that she’s been seeing is broke as all hell and she’s been taking care of him; paying for dinners, fancy hotel rooms, the lot. And he told her he’d take her on holiday once his business took off.”

“What the fuck…”

“Yeah,” Louis looked like he was trying to stifle a schadenfreudian smile, “but just earlier today she found out that he’s got no business. He’s a fuckin’ factory worker with a wife and two kids. He’s been lying to her all this time.”

“Christ, what a psychopath.”

“I know right?” Louis’ eyes were wide, full of incredulity, for all of three seconds. Then he sighed and snapped out of it, resting back against the pillows again. After a moment, he muttered, “but it’s really fuckin’ shit for us, though. That she’s in that state of mind right now.”

“Why?”

He sighed again, long and hard. “Because Harry and I were going to ask her for a loan today.”

“You were?”

“Yeah. Fifteen hundred quid. My, uhm.. my last arrangement to get the money fell through and our only other option was Tabby. We thought it wasn’t that much to ask, you know. That she’d be all right with it. But now, like… we can’t ask her that. Not when she’s just gone through this, she'll think everyone's just out for her money. Worst case scenario, she'll kick all of us out on our arse's," he shook his head, "everyone’s luck just seems to be non-existent right now, man.”

Lottie glanced at him. He was keeping on a brace face, pretending to be chilling and watching the telly, but she knew him. She knew that faint line between his brows. She knew the twitch in his jaw and the wringing of his hands. She knew he had to be using all he had in him just to look remotely all right.

“Babe,” she said, resting a hand on his arm, “doesn’t this mean you’re in terrible trouble, then?”

He swallowed, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Then he shook his head at himself, threw a leg out of the bed and pushed off it. “No, I shouldn’t be puttin’ this on you.”

“No, babe, you can-”

“No, you need to worry about your homework and your boyfriend’s bowel system. I shouldn't be loading off on you.”

He left the room before she could come up with anything to stop him, closing the door soundly behind him. She stared at it, as if he might come in again in a second, until it finally did open again.

But it wasn’t Louis.

“Downstairs loo needs a cleaning,” Chace said, sauntering into the room like a great weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. Or rather, his bowel system. “Remind me to tell mum to have a word with the housekeeper. Also, I think she’s stealing from us. Have you noticde how all of our menstrual pads seem to go missing the second mum stocks up?”

“No, I haven’t had my period since I’ve been here,” Louis replied, frowning a little, “but you obviously have.”

“Shut up, Lottie, I just check up on things. Tampons seem to disappear as well.”

“It’s probably Fizzy. She’s doing a science project this week. Think she might be using the tampons to build a time machine.”

“Christ.” Chace shook his head, resting an arm around Lottie’s shoulders and scratching her hair idly as she snuggled close to him, “ten years from now, I tell you, that girl is either in prison or the new prime minister. Corrupted, of course. Not that she could make it any worse than it already is. D’you know, i I was watching  the news yesterday and that Theresa May was makin’ a complete  mug of herself, blabbin’ on about-”

“Babe, remember you said you were saving up to take me to Venice this summer?”  

“Yes? I’ve already put about two thousand down so far. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I reckon I'm exceptionally good at handling my money, my age considered.”

“You are, baby.”

“Thank you, I really think that I am. Anyway, why’re you asking?”

She chewed on her nail, trying to mold her words meticulously before putting them out there. When convincing Chace to make a choice about money, or anything at all, the number one rule was always to manipulate the situation in a way that would make him think it was his idea in the first place.

She cocked her head to the side and batted her lashes up at him. “And you know how I’ve always admired how giving and generous and selfless you are, right?”

 

*

“Gentlemen.”

Louis looked up from where he was perched across the bed, flicking aimlessly around on his phone. As far away as humanly possible, Harry was lying on his stomach, chin rested in his hands and eyes on his laptop, looking at loans the bank was never going to grant him.

Chace cleared his throat loudly. “Gentlemen,” he repeated, carefully closing the bedroom door behind him, “I have a proposition for you.”

God. “What, gentlebud?”

“Gentlebud.” He gave a strange false chuckle. “That’s funny, Lewis.”

Now Harry lifted his head too, looking exactly as annoyed as Louis was. The thing about Chace was that before he even spoke, he had this way about him that made you want to punch him in the face. But that would probably break his frail little jaw and besides, without him, Louis and the kids would be living on the streets. He kept his hands unfisted, for now.

“Thank you, Chace. Thank you very much. What’s up, mate?” he said, as nicely as he possibly could. “What’s your proposition?”

Chace sauntered around the bed, smoothed out a few crinkles in the sheet and then sat himself down, folding his hands neatly in his lap. He smacked his lips and smiled at Louis in a way that let him know his next words would be patronizing before he even spoke. “Louis,” he said, chuckling to himself, “Louis, Louis, Louis.”

Chace, Chace, Chace. Your face, your beautiful little face, just begs for attention from my right fist. “Yes, Chacelyn?”

“I know that you’re in trouble,” he lifted a finger as if to shush Louis, even though he hadn't been about to say anything, “no need to interject. I know things, Louis.” He tapped his temple, smiling again. Louis wrapped his left hand around his tight-fisted right one to keep it steady. “I know that you need my help. And… what can I say? I’m a generous guy. I’m giving and, well, I don’t like to blow my own whistle-”

“Trumpet.”

“Trumpet, crumpet, whatever. My point is that I’m not one to speak highgly of my own achievements, I let them do that for me, but I will say this; I’ve been known to be quite the charitable young man. And I’d like to help you two out.”

Louis cocked his head back, tightening his hand around his twitching right fist. “Is that so?” he managed.

“It is, Lewis. It is. I would like to offer you a helping hand in the form of fifteen hundred quid from my own pocket.”

Louis mouth dropped open.

“- no no,” Chace said, lifting his finger again, “no need to thank me.” He flattened his palm out on his own chest, smiling dickishly, “this is as much for me as it is you. I haven’t done as much for the people in need as I usually do, this past year. I want to help you. I want to do that for you.”

He widened his smile. Louis’ fist clenched up further. _No_. To hell if he was going to get his eyeballs splashed in acid by some drug-lord. Rather that than take charity from this anemic little bitch, who’d no doubt never let him hear the end of it. “You know what, Chace, you can take your fifteen-hundred quid and stick them-”

“In my hand,” Harry interrupted, “thank you so much, Chace, that’s incredibly generous of you. We cannot thank you enough for this offer.” He took Chace’s hands, folding them up in his own and shook them, pasting on a smile faker than Katie Price’s teeth. “Honestly. You’re an incredible young man.”

“Why, thank you, Harold.” Chace smiled, petting Harry’s cheek and the vein at Harry’s temple popped out, straining down to his cheekbone. “I’m happy to help.”

“I’m happy you want to,” Harry gritted out through his stitched-on smile, “thank you so much.”

Chace nodded again and then left with his head held high, going to fetch them their generous, heartfelt endowment. Fucking prick.

The second he'd closed the door behind him, Harry dropped his smile with a loud sigh of relief and deflated back on the bed.

“You disgust me,” Louis said, “have you got no pride?”

“Not anymore, no,” Harry replied coldly, rolling around to face away from Louis, “and if I’d had as much as you, we’d have been in big trouble in a week, so don’t speak to me unless you can thank me.”

“I’m not thanking you for shit.”

“Right. So shut the fuck up.”

Louis groaned and left the room. He couldn’t be there when Chace came back to hand them their charity. He couldn’t be stuck in this room with Harry. He couldn’t be in his own body without a fucking cigarette right this instant.

 

*

Taking ‘help’ from Chace was the very definition of selling out. Of selling your soul to the devil. Help from Chace wasn’t help. It was a trick, a trap, a boost to his ego, and if Louis knew one thing about people like Chace, it was that boosting their ego was the last thing you ever wanted to do. From now on, he’d mention it every single time Louis passed him in the hall. He’d send Louis patronizing little smile-and-nod’s. He’d bring it up during dinners at inappropriate times just to back-handedly humiliate him. Held milk it, fucking drain it, until he’d bled Louis dry of any slither of self-respect.

And Harry had done this to him.

Harry had dragged Louis into shit up to his collarbone's, then accepted it when Louis went back to whoring, then decided half-way through that he actually _couldn't_ accept it and ruined it before Louis could stop him, and _then_ \-  last, but definitely not least -  he'd accepted Chace’s patronizing pity-offer without Louis' consent. Saying that Louis was bitter with him was the equivalent of saying that Tabatha’s married boyfriend was a ‘confused, but nice guy deep down’. Louis was fucking livid.

What was even worse was that, for some inexplicable reason, Harry still felt entitled to act like Louis had done _him_ wrong.

During dinner, he scoffed every time Louis spoke. He made several snide remarks and blatantly ignored Louis when he asked him to pass the salt. After they’d put down the kids, Harry drove off without telling anyone and when he came back two hours later, he switched channels on the telly while Louis was making himself a cup of tea, the ruthless bastard.

“I was watching that,” Louis hissed at him.

Harry ignored him.

Louis stood there, staring at him incredulously, for several seconds. Harry didn’t budge. Didn’t even move his gaze from the telly.

“Oh my _god_ ," Louis snapped, hot tea spilling over his fingers. He didn't give a fuck. "You absolute immature fuckin’-”

“Boys.”

“Piece of shit, passive-aggressive, selfish little thick-skulled-”

“Boys.”

“Good for nothing, speech-impediment-ridden, bloody frog-faced-”

“Boys.”

“ -cunt . Fucking _cunt_ ,” Louis finished, gasping for air.

“That’s nice, Louis. Very mature."

“Boys,” Tabatha said for the fourth time, “there’s some Irish kid at the door for you. Says his name is Niall and he’s freezing his cock off. Does that sound like anyone you might know?”


	29. Chapter 29

Lottie lifted the third of her dress options up in front of the mirror again. She had three relatively nice ones and a pair of black strappy shoes that would go with either one of them. Tabatha had done her hair, the sweetheart that she was, and let her borrow a load of her makeup. Lottie had finished her face first, locking herself in the downstairs loo.

The others probably thought she was vain as all hell, bothering so much about her makeup, but the other's didn’t understand it like she did. Like Tabatha, who was in the business, did. It wasn’t just about looking pretty. It wasn't just about the final outcome; it wasn’t just about the compliments or the confidence-boost.

It was about the process.

Cleaning your face off, getting your canvas nice and fresh for the paint. Choosing the right shade of foundation, using just the right amount and then dabbing it on ever so gently to get the finish nice and dewy. Adding powder to set it, enhancing your features with bronzer and then just a tad of highligther to top the look off. Picking eye-shadow colours that would make your eye's pop and match the rest of the look at the same time, then making sure to blend it properly, without smudging the colour's together too much. Last, but not least; gluing on your false lashes. Batting them at yourself in the mirror for the first time. Admiring your completed piece of personal art.

But the other's wouldn’t get that. They’d say Lottie was ‘cakey’, ‘orange’, maybe even ‘can’t see a difference from before’. They’d take the piss, make little comments about her watching that her foundation didn’t smudge off on her phone or that her eyelashes didn’t whip someone when she blinked. They’d make it sound so frivolous, the thing she’d perfected.

She didn’t care. She hadn’t reached the door before Niall had left yesterday, and now, tonight, was the first time she’d see him in what felt like forever. She wanted to look perfect. She knew he’d understand, behind the grin and the tease, that she’d put in the effort and she was good at what she did. That she actually had skill.

“I’m going with the blue one,” she told Chace, carefully pulling the delicate lacey sleeves off the hanger, “don’t you think that’d go best with my makeup?”

“Can’t see a difference,” he muttered from the bed.

He’d been ready since the moment they’d gotten the message that Niall was inviting everyone over to his new in-town flat for a nice meal. He hadn’t even changed his shirt.

“I can fix your hair up a little bit for you if you want,” she offered him, sitting down to pull on her stockings, “like I did for that confirmation you went to. You said I did well.”

“I’m good,” he muttered, “mum already offered, but I don't see the point.”

“Okay, babe...”

She went into the bathroom to put on her dress. She’d found it in a second-hand shop last year, between ripped shit and stained undergarments. It had long sleeves with a beautiful handsewn lace-floral pattern down to the wrists and it hugged her figure perfectly, a classy mid-thigh length with a sexy little slit up the side. If that wasn’t a diamond in the rough, then she didn’t reckon much else was.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, dress on and her long blonde hair in wavy curls around her shoulders, she thought _fuck_ _it_ if she was vain, then. She looked damn good being so.

“What do you think?” she asked Chace, walking back into his bedroom. She tried to sound casual, didn’t want him to tell her off for fishing for compliments. But oh, how she still hoped he’d give her some. “The blue one looks best, doesn’t it?”

He did her the honours of lifting his gaze half-way up from his phone, gave her a quick glance up and down and then nodded. “Yeah, looks fine.”

Fine. Looks _fine_. “Fine?” she couldn’t help herself. She’d spent hours.

“Yes, fine, what do you want me to say, Lots?” his eyes were glued to his phone again, unmoving.

“Nothing. I was just-”

“Please don’t stand there fishing for compliments. It makes you sound desperate, babe.”

She sighed. She didn’t know why she even bothered.

Tabatha nearly choked on her own spit when she saw Lottie in the hallway. Clasped her hands together and had to take a moment just to grasp the look of her. Gasped, “my god, you’re like something out of a movie” and, when they were all putting their shoes on to leave, “God, isn’t Lottie just a dead ringer for a young Anne Jeffreys?”

The best she got in response was, “I dunno who that is, but she kinda gives me a chavy Alicia Silverstone-vibe.”

Lottie made a point of taking the passenger-seat in Harry’s minivan on the drive to Niall’s. He wasn’t much better than the other's, but at least he told her she “looked nice” and kept quiet for the rest of the ride.

*

The building standing on the adress Niall had given them looked a lot like Harry’s, except the hallways were cleaner, not reaking of piss and prostitutes. Louis hadn’t believed his own ears when Niall, out of breath and red in the face, had told him that he’d just arrived back in town and had spent the last two days trying to track Louis down. He believed them even less when Niall had, quite succinctly and incredibly thick-accented suddenly, told him that he’d gotten a rental flat in town to one-up Louis’ trailer-home.

When Louis had opened his mouth to mention that he didn’t even have a trailer-home any longer, Niall had cut him off and said; “but i know it’s been smashed, it was the first place i went. What the hell happened there?” and before he’d given Louis a chance to answer he’d said, “well, I’m riding with a friend right now and he wants to get home so I’ve got to go. I’ll text you my adress and you all can come see the flat tomorrow night, how’s that? Catch me up on why the fuck you’re staying at your littlesister’s arsehole boyfriend’s house.”

And now they were here. Standing outside flat number hundred and one, waiting for Niall to let them in.

“I still think it’s a wind-up,” Louis said, more to himself than the bunch standing behind him, “this is too fuckin’ surreal.”

Then the door-chain rattled. “Hellooooooo,” Niall screamed as he opened the door, “come in, come in, fella's!”

He was dressed in a navy blue button-down, buttoned way too far down, and a pair of black slacks that he’d forgotten to zip. His hair was in total disarray, dark roots outgrown so far he only had little white tips left, but his face was red and round as always. Smile from ear to ear and an automatic machine-gun laughter going off as soon as Louis said, “hi, mate” and gave him a half-arsed three-slaps-on-the-back hug.

They crammed their way through the tiny hallway, throwing shoes and coats on the floor on Niall’s orders. “Long as you don’t smash up the walls,” he laughed, “don’t own a thing besides the telly in this flat.”

The flat was tiny, the kitchen and livingroom one little square room, furnished with an IKEA- futon and a telly on the floor in front of it. It seemed even tinier than Harry’s at first glance, but as Louis looked around himself, he counted four doors apart from the front one. One of them lead to a tiny little bathroom, another a bedroom just big enough to fit a queen-size bed and an open suitcase of clothing. The two last one's were larger and, more notably, empty.

“What do you think, lad?” Niall asked, slapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders. “Nice little place I’ve gotten us, eh?”

“Us?” Louis was still staring into one of the empty bedrooms, unsure of... everything, basically. “What do you mean, 'us'?”

“Us,” Niall repeated, as if it made perfect sense, and then turned around and yelled at Fizzy for trying to flip his futon upside down. “Us,” he said again, turning back to Louis.

“As in…”

“As in you, me and the fam.”

It was only then that the information started to process itself in Louis’ mind. Niall hadn’t gotten himself a flat in town. He’d gotten them _all_ a flat in town. This was… “too much, Niall. That's too much.”

“How did I know that’d be your first response?” Niall laughed. Then he gave Louis another slap in the back and said, “I’ll let you have a look around your new home, then. Gonna go make sure the kids don't tear the place apart before they've even had a chance to live here.”

He left Louis then, left him dangling in the doorway of his possible soon-to-be-bedroom, unsure of what to do with himself or his heart, which was threatening to beat its way out of his chest. His throat, which had a lump in it, threatening to set the waterworks into full-blown frenzy. This was too much.

 

*

 

“Hey,” Niall said, taking a seat beside Lottie on the kitchen counter. She’d been sitting there since she came in, hadn’t even had a proper look around the flat yet. She knew what this place was, what the fact that there were four doors in this room meant, and what Niall had just told Louis over there, near one of the empty bedrooms. She knew it all. Didn’t mean she could handle it. “You all right?”

“No,” she said, her voice even smaller than she’d expected it to be. She sniffled and cocked her head back to try and keep the tears she didn’t want from streaking down on her foundation. “Niall, you’re ruining my make-up, you stupid idiot.”

He laughed.

He laughed, loud and Niall-like, right in her left ear, right there to hear and to take in and so real it seemed almost palpable. She hadn’t even hugged him yet.

She threw an arm around his waist and pulled him in. He hugged her right back, tugging her close enough to hurt.

“You’re so stupid,” she whimpered, punching weakly at his chest, “so fucking stupid, you’re too fucking much.”

“I’m sorry.” His entire body vibrated against hers with his laugh. His warmth and his familiar scent wrapped her up in it and if she hadn’t know already, she knew she’d missed him right then. So much she didn’t know what to do with herself.

She kept him close. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, Lots.”

“So much.” The tears were running down her cheeks now, streaking her foundation and smudging up her eye-shadow and she couldn't possibly care less. Fuck being vain. Fuck being anything but right here in the moment, holding family close and never letting it leave again. “I hate you for leaving us. Leaving _me_ , you stupid bastard.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled softly, breath tickling her messed-up hair-do, “I missed you.”

They hugged for a while. They hugged until the toddlers came and tugged at their feet for attention. They hugged until Chace made a snorty remark and Fizzy told him off for it. The hugged until they couldn’t possibly hug any longer and even longer after that.

When Lottie finally did pull back, she just watched him. Touched his hands and his arms and his stupid ruddy face, just to be sure he was really there. He hadn’t been gone for half as long as it’d felt like, but she hadn’t known she’d ever see him again. She hadn’t know what that would feel like, losing part of her family and not knowing if she’d ever have it back. She never wanted to know that feeling again.

“What the hell have you been doing? How the- what- _shit_ , how did you afford this place?”

“Let’s not talk business on family-night,” Niall grinned.

“Don’t tell me what to talk about, you fucking,” she punched him again, overwhelmed and giddy with it, “dick. You absolute _dick_.”

He laughed. “Let’s just say I’ve had a little trip to London and I’ve done a bit of stuff and… well, I won’t be going back to London again anytime soon if I want to keep my fingers intact.”

“What, were you playing piano for money?”

He snorted a laugh. “Something like that…”

“You’re not in trouble, are you?”

He smiled at her, pinching her cheek. “Not really. Not in this town, anyway. I’m good here,” his fingers glad up into her hair, fixing it back behind her ear, “here with you lot.”

She rested her face in his palm and gave as much of a smile as she could manage without tearing up again. “If you ever leave again,” she said, her voice so frail it would’ve been pathetic if Niall didn’t look exactly as affected as she was, “I’m going to hunt you down, get you back here and-”

“Kill me. I know. And that’s fair. I've been an arsehole.”

She nodded and chuckled at the same time, a little too breathily. “What’s for dinner?” she asked then, because she couldn’t handle anything else. Any of this.

“Pizza. Delivery guy should be here in a minute.”

She laughed. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“You won’t have to again.”

She nuzzled into his hand, feeling needy for his touch, his smell and his closeness. “You promise?”

He pulled her back into a hug. “I promise,” he muttered into her hair, “I swear on all of my un-broken fingers, I won’t be running off to London again.”

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know that these last couple chapter's have been a little bit split between Louis and Lottie's storyline. But i hope that's okay and that you like the Lottie-character and to see the things her head and her love-life goes through as well.
> 
> And don't worry if you're more into a Larry-centric fic, this story is still mainly centered around Louis as the main character and his stuff with H, it's just these couple of chapters where i wanted to give the other siblings a bit more of a varied character, if that makes sense.


	30. Chapter 30

“You’ve ignored me all night,” Chace said as he, Lottie, the kids and Harry all filed into Tabatha’s hallway at 1 AM. “Lottie. Lottie. You’ve ignored me all night. Lottie.”

She sighed, toeing off her shoes. She couldn’t deal with this. Not right now. “I’m going to bed, Chace.”

He followed her fast up the stairs. “Was it because of the dress-thing?” he panted after her, “was it because I didn’t compliment your dress enough?”

She scoffed. If he really thought that little of her, that she’d be pissed for an entire evening over a compliment, or lack there of, then he was probably right, but he could still go screw himself. She hadn’t ignored him all evening. She hadn’t even thought of him, for once. For one fucking evening of one fucking day, it hadn’t been all about Chace. It’d been about Niall. About family. About herself.

If he couldn’t wrap his selfish head around that then she couldn’t waste her time helping him do so. “Fuck off,” she muttered, “I’m sleeping in the other bedroom tonight.”

“Lottie, don’t be a child.”

She stopped in her tracks. “Pardon me?” she hissed, spinning around so fast she nearly knocked her nose against his. “'Don’t be a child', did you say?”

He took a step backwards, frowning. “Why are you acting up all of a sudden? I told you you looked fine and then you started moaning that fine wasn’t enough. Then you ignore me all evening and pretty much only talk to Niall like I’m just thin air to you, and now- now you’re yelling at me,” he said, “over a fucking dress.”

“It’s not about the fucking dress,” she yelled, “and i can yell all I want. And you,” she waited until everyone else was up the stairs too, within earshot, “ you can spank your own arse tonight because I’m sleeping in the other room. Goodnight.”

She left him there, face flushed red, hands balled into fists, vibrating at his sides. She smiled to herself as she heard Fizzy’s voice mutter, “like a good spanking, do we, Chacey?” and Phoebe add on, “do you get on all fours when she does it?” and Fizzy bark a laugh and add a last, “hey, no need to look so flustered, subbie, it’s all good. Here, take my belt, it’s long enough to give yourself a good whipping.”

 

*

 

“Think Chace brought this bottle,” Niall said, joining Louis on the balcony where he was sitting alone, legs danling out through the fencing.

The evening had been overwhelming to say the least and once it came to an end, Niall had offered that Louis stayed the night and hushed everyone else out quickly. To say Louis was grateful would be quite the understatement. It was so quiet out here, in the dark of the night. So peaceful.

“Chace’s bottle, did you say?” Louis muttered, grabbing the bottle of out of Niall’s hand. He unscrewed and sniffed it, just to check that it wasn't dodgy. “Little fucker might’ve spiked it with poison, be careful.”

Niall gave a low cackle and grabbed the bottle, downing a big unapologetic swig right from the mouth of it. “Taste’s like piss,” he said, wiping his mouth off with the back of his sleeve, “but drink some, it does the trick anyway.”

Louis took a swig of the piss, then set the bottle down between them and rested back on his elbows with a long sigh. “Still can’t believe you, mate.”

“You know what I can’t believe?” Niall said, looking out into nothing through the ridges in the fence. “That I hurried off to London, thinking that was where I’d find something to show for myself, and within weeks I realized I didn’t have fuck-all if I didn’t have my family.”

“Aw,” Louis cooed lazily, “that’s sweet. I’ll write that on your tombstone once your London-fuckers come to kill you.”

Niall laughed. “Ey, don’t worry. I’m not in any trouble.” He twisted his head to glance at Louis. “You aren’t either anymore, are you? Harry was catching me up on shit and how you've figured it out, but I got the sense from him that things still weren’t entirely okay.”

Louis just shrugged. Things _weren’t_ entirely okay. How could they be? “But we’ve got the money ready to pay now. And I’m keeping them in a safe spot. Won’t trust anyone else to hold them until they’ve been delivered.”

“Good lad,” Niall chuckled, patting his leg, “if you want something done right, innit?”

“Innit.”

Niall left to fetch a pack of cigarettes and came back a minute later. They didn’t speak as he lit their fags for him. They took their first long drags, puffing out through their nostrils and watching the smoke disappear in the dark. Despite how bad it was, it  was good, Louis thought. Having someone to smoke with again.

“But,” Niall said at some point, like he’d been talking to himself in his head for a while, “are you guys still together or has it… sort of run it’s course with you?”

Louis' gaze snapped up. It stung, much more than a question coming from Niall ever should. It wasn’t the question in itself, not really. It was the way he put it, like he’d just observed Louis and Harry tonight, maybe observed them since they’d gotten together, and assumed that things were never meant to last. That it wasn’t even a big deal.

Maybe it shouldn’t be. Maybe there always had been an expiration date and Louis had just gotten too blinded somewhere in the process to remind himself. “I don’t know,” he said, because he couldn't say no and he couldn't really handle the thought of saying 'yes' quite yet, “I honestly don’t know.”

“Do you still fuck?”

“Try to,” Louis said, trying not to dwell on the last time they did and how sore he still was. How bad he still felt that Harry hadn’t even come near him, hadn’t even touched him since he’d fucked him like that. It wasn’t like Louis would've let him if he’d tried, but-“but… yeah, it's complicated. I don’t know about... things. We’ll see, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Niall tapped his fag to drop some ash-crumbs over the edge of the balcony and then lifted it half-way to his mouth again before adding, “but you seem like you’ve had a fight or summat. Seemed like it tonight. You weren’t speaking.”

“No,” Louis sighed, “I don’t know,” he said again, “can we talk about something else?” he asked, because he meant it when he said he didn’t know and he meant it even more when he said, “I don’t want to think about this right now.”

“No, yeah, all right. That’s cool. I get it.”

They were quiet for a while, enjoying the sounds of the street beneath their dangling feet, and the nicotine rushing through their bloodstreams.

“But, you know,” Niall said eventually, “I'm not joking when I tell ya that I came back to stay. Or that I want you all to live with me. It’s not a joke. It’s vital to me.”

Louis laughed. “Vital to you. Niall, vital to you is eating over five-thousand calories a day, you don't-”

“No, mate, I’m not winding you up here, shut up for a minute.” So Louis did, because Niall was never serious, but he looked quite close it right then. “I went to London to find something to show for myself. Didn’t know what the hell that would be. I came with a plan to maybe, like… fuck, I don’t know, get a job or an education or summat. But you know how it is. You always end up doing the same shit you’ve always done.”

“Yeah.” Louis knew how it was. “So what happened, then?”

“So, I,” he shook his head down at his lap, “I realised that all i really had in London was exactly the same as I’d had back here. Except I didn't have my family. You guys. I felt like a fucking fraud, trying to act like I’d done something good for myself by moving to 'the big city'. All I’d done was move myself away from the only thing that keeps me grounded. Like… gives me a reason not to get into really bad shit with really bad people. Cause if…” he glanced at Louis, then away again, chewing on his words, “like, if I don’t have the people I care about around, the people that care about me, then… I’d have no reason to even care what happens to me. And," he smiled, "now I’ve got a home without wheels under it and a bed that's not at floor-level. And I’ve got my family,” he shrugged a shoulder, “I reckon that’s more than enough to show for myself.”

Louis grinned, because it was hard not to. Niall never spoke earnestly, never spoke without a joke to cover it all, but right now he did and Louis couldn’t do anything but grin. But it made sense. Every last word, it made more sense than anything. “Your fam,” Louis said, pressing a thumbs-up to Niall's shoulder, “self-chosen little fam, innit?”

“Yeah. It really is.” He laughed  out at nothing, then sat for a while, chuckling at himself, “great to see Lottie again, i have to admit,” he said, once his face had fallen back into serious folds, “god, I’d missed her, Lou.”

“She’s missed you too. Went mental for a while after you left.”

“I hate that I did that to her,” Niall said, his brows drawing closer, “made her sad and all. That was the last-  _is_ the last thing I’d ever want to do.”

Louis nodded, biting his tongue over a reply, because he felt there was more to come and he didn’t want to stunt it or make it into a joke.

“You know, she’s so mature. She’s so mature for her age,” Niall continued, “but she’s only sixteen. She thinks she knows… what it’s like and what she needs. And she does, is the thing. A lot of the time it seems she knows more than me. I thought she was young and dumb for staying with that jack-ass, and- well, I still think he’s a jack-ass - but she made me rethink things, is my point. She’s not dumb for staying with him. She’s just young. She knows what it looks like and she chooses not to give a shit, but she does know. She’s very smart, Lottie. I think being with Chace, at least for right now, is exactly what she’s meant to do. Be young and dumb and in love with a bloke, who’s just as young and even dumber than her. And, I mean, regardless of all the bullshit, she does love him. Who am I to blame her for loving someone and not being able to help it? It's not like she chose to.”

Louis smiled to himself. “I reckon Chace loves her too. In his own way.”

“Yeah. Yeah, he does. The way he looks at her, mate. When she doesn’t see it. I’ve only ever seen-”

“ _You_ look at her that way,” Louis finished. Niall’s head snapped up and Louis just smiled and reached over to squeeze his arm, “it’s all right, mate, I’m not bothered. Just get over it if you can. For your own sake.”

Slowly, Niall’s face fell into a sheepish little smile. “I was going to tell her, you know. I’d planned to tell her tonight.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I didn’t,” he gave Louis' arm a squeeze in return, then looked out at the night-sky again and sighed, “she deserves to be with someone she’s mad about. Someone who’s going through the same stuff as she is. Not some old Irish bastard who’s grown fond of a girl eight years his junior. Even if she could’ve loved me back, I… I think she’d be better off not. Not right now.”

Louis nodded. It made sense. Every last word. “I think that’s big of you, mate.” He let a crooked smile creep it's way onto his face, “besides; If you fucked my baby sister I’d have to kill you.”

“Yeah,” Niall laughed, “there’s that too.”

They both laughed for much longer than it was funny, tipsy and giddy and a little too cold out here.

“Blimmin' hell...” Niall sighed, once it had faded, “Chace is one lucky bastard, though, I have to say. That dress she wore tonight… her hair… even with her makeup all smudged. She’s more gorgeous than anything, really.”

 

*

 

She’d been sitting in the garden since she came home from school. Well, since she came home from school and took a two-hour-long nap. Sitting back in a lawnchair with a glass of fizzy and her eyes on the toddlers, doing cold thugs and attempting cartwheels, she felt at ease.

At ease from Chace and the lot, that was.

“Hiya, I cut you some fruit,” Harry said, coming out to disturb her moment of solitude, “hope you don’t mind the company?”

“No, it’s fine,” she lied, offering him a smile. He seemed down lately, not up to his usual standard of cheek and tease and just a dash of flirt for everyone. Hell, he hadn’t even been sending Louis those sly  ‘I want to bend you over the back of the couch’’-looks, that he seemed to be so fond of.

He was off his game, the old Harold.

“You’re off your game, old Harold,” Lottie said, because she couldn’t be bothered both pasting on a false smile for Chace, to keep him from bothering her about last night, _and_ bite her tongue for Harry. Someone had to get it and Harry was easiest, least-likely-to-blow-up-in-her-face target. “Haven’t even winked at me in days.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry chuckled and threw her a wink. “That any good?”

“No, your heart wasn’t in it,” she said, then snatched an apple-boat and rested back in her seat to keep an eye on the toddler’s. “It seemed forced and you accidentally scrunched up your nose so I could see your nostril-hairs. Not very charming at all, to be honest.”

He gave a low chuckle. “I’m sorry. I am- I guess I am a bit off my game at the moment.”

“You are. Tabatha’s had to resort to over-curling her hair and cutting her ends too short. You’ve got to get back on track with the confidence-boosting around here. You know everyone’s self-esteem is dependent on your flirty double-takes. We thrive of it, us women.”

“And Chace,” Harry noted, “think he’s re-doing his highlights as we speak.”

Lottie stifled a groan at the mention. “My point exactly,” she said, “he needs your ‘take my dick now’-looks. Doesn’t want them, necessarily. But God knows he needs them.”

Harry laughed. “You’re funny, Lots.”

“Funny won’t cut it, Harry. People are fucking up their hair because of you, you’ve got to pull out the big guns.”

“All right, all right,” he chuckled, “you’re hot, Lottie. How’s that?”

“It’ll do me for the day, but tomorrow I expect a good elevator-stare and maybe throw in a lip-lick while you’re at it.”

“Okay. I’ll try to be better for you.”

She cackled until it wasn’t funny anymore, then decided she might as well ask; “what’s going on with you and Lou?”

Harry’s face fell.

Chace slammed the patio-doors open. “Lottie,” he hissed.

“Not now, Chace,” she said, lifting a hand to shush him. “We’re just having a one-on-one right now.”

“All right, _that’s_ it!” he suddenly snapped, then stomped around Harry’s lawn-chair and placed himself solidly in front of Lottie’s, pressing his hands to his hips. He looked cute. He didn’t sound it; “that’s the final straw right there!”

“Jesus, babe, voice,” Lottie sighed, “what’s up with you?”

“What’s up with _me_?” he gave a fake laugh so schreechy that Harry’s hand flew to his mouth to cover his own laugh. “What’s up with _you_?!”

“Nothing much, except my boyfriend’s being kind of a psycho.”

“I - no… _No_ ,” he insisted, lifting a finger at her. Harry made noise like he was choking. Lottie stared at Chace blankly. “No,” he repeated, “listen.”

“Chace-”

“No. Listen.”

“Okay, all right, I’ll liste-”

“ _No_.Listen to me.”

Harry burst out laughing. Lottie and Chace ignored him as he tipped off the lawn-chair and rolled off into the abyss.

“Listen,” Chace said, his eyes so wide they looked seconds from popping out of his skull, “listen. I told you that you looked fine in your dress last night-”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, do we have to-”

“Shut up. I told you that you looked fine because I don’t like it when girls think all they have is their looks. When girls think that all that makes them matter is that they look pretty and that once their looks fade, they’ve got nothing left to offer the world.”

“I don’t think that just because I like to make myself look pre-”

“I know, shut up,” he cut her off again, “listen. You’re exactly _not_ that kind of girl. You have so much to offer other than your looks. But I _did_ tell you that you looked fine last night, not because you looked fine, but because of my principals. And for that I am sorry. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have underestimated your self-esteem, I should’ve just told you what I actually thought instead of making it into a whole thing.”

Lottie nodded slowly, her mouth left open. She’d basically had lost him at this point. “Okay…?”

“So,” he straightened up and took a deep breath, “Lottie. I am sorry that I told you that you looked fine and told you off when you got offended. I’m sorry that I told you a lie in the name of my own personal principals. I’m sorry.”

“Okay…?”

“Because, frankly,” he said, looking her in the eye with such intensity that it was all she could do not to burst out laughing too, “frankly, babe. You looked incredible in that dress. Last night, in that dress, with your hair done and your makeup all perfect; I couldn’t hardly stand to look at you. I,” he sighed exasperatedly, “I oftentimes can’t stand to look at you,” he threw a hand out, like what he was saying was redundant, “everyone knows, babe. Everyone who isn’t blind can see it. It’s just a fact of life,” he looked at her again, shrugging a shoulder, “you’re an absolute stunner.”

Oh. “ _Oh_.”

“Yeah,” he shrugged again, “it’s just a matter of fact, darling. You make everyone around you look like a bag of potatoes the second you walk into a room. It’s just… I thought you knew this. You have a mirror.”

He shrugged a third time, smacked his lips and then headed for the patio-doors again.

She sat there in the lawn chair for several minutes after.

She didn’t burst out laughing. She didn’t answer Harry when he crawled back up beside her and made some stupid comment. She didn’t check on the toddler’s. She didn’t really do much with what she’d been granted. There wasn’t really anything to do with it. She wasn't really sure she understood it.

Maybe she’d just been told she was the fittest girl in most rooms. Maybe she’d just been told that she was so stunning that he couldn’t hardly stand to look at her. Maybe she'd just been told that she was one of those girls who was so undeniably gorgeous, even to the objective eye, that people cracked their necks just seeing her walk down the street. Maybe she was like that girl, in that song song she didn't remember the name of, who was so beautiful, but didn't know it and that was what made her even more beautiful. Maybe she'd just been let in on a secret that everyone but herself saw every day. Maybe she'd just gotten the best, most earnestly spoken, boost to the confidence in her looks that any girl could ever wish for.

Or maybe - just maybe - she’d just gotten something so much better than any of that.

_You make everyone around you look like a bag of potatoes the second you walk into a room._

Her boyfriend was blind for her.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHIT I ONLY JUST REALISED THAT I ACCIDENTALLY POSTED THE UN-EDITED SHIIIIITTY VERSION OF THIS CHAPTER FIRST. I HAVE CHANGED IT NOW. SOOORRY

“In. Pay. Out. All right?”

Louis nodded. Maybe he replied, judging from the nod Harry gave him back. He couldn’t know for sure. Couldn’t hear his own voice for the sound of his heart, thundering in his throat, or his blood, pumping at record speed.

In the last couple of weeks, he’d been scared in a way he hadn’t in years. He’d been lying awake, night after night, clutching the sheets in shakes and cold-sweats. He’d had a constant pit, gnawing at his insides, a ball of acid, tugging at his chest. He’d been scared in the only way worse than fearing for his own life could make him; he’d been scared for his children.

But this, right now, standing outside the door that he’d followed Harry to that night which seemed like forever ago today, he felt the fear more physically than he ever had. A paralyzing, full-body ache. One that only came with knowing, knowing exactly what you were getting yourself into, and doing it anyway.

Last he’d been here, he’d walked into something he had no idea what was. He’d been blinded by rage, _brave_ with it, and he’d walked himself right into it.

This time, he wasn’t blind. He wasn’t angry. He knew exactly what this was and that scared him. So much.

“Okay,” Harry said, staring at the doorbell, “you ready?” He looked like he needed the yes more for his own sake than Louis’.

“No,” Louis said,  and rang the doorbell.

*

They followed the pavement in silence, their arms brushing as they dangled between them, but never really touching.

Louis’ watch told him that they’d only been up there for all of six minutes. He would’ve believed anyone if they told him it’d been hours.

Now, walking out of there, walking out of what had stolen night after night of sleep for the past long while, he didn’t feel relieved. They paid off their debt now. They’d finished it cleanly, they’d come out of it safely and Louis didn’t feel relieved.

Most of all, he felt drained. A  strange twinge of depression, like from feeling so much, so intensely, so consistently through every hour of the day, and now suddenly having to remember what it felt like to be normal again. He’d almost grown accustomed to it; the constant fear, the anxiety and the never-ending feeling of not having steady ground under him. Like something having had a grip on  the rug under his feet, ready to pull it the second  he turned a cheek. Like having exactly three weeks to worry about and three weeks only, and now that those three weeks were over, realising that life didn’t end. That it had to go on.

He looked over at Harry. He was following his own feet with his gaze, dragging along the dusty pavement. His shoulders were low, his arms dangling at his sides, but he didn’t look relieved either. He just looked tired.

When they reached back to the minivan, they didn’t utter a word to one another. Harry pulled off the pavement, flicked the radio on low and drove them back to Tabatha’s. Louis rested his face against the window, watching the town passing by without really watching at all. This was the end of it. This was the happy ending.

It just felt like the end.

They pulled into Tabatha’s driveway, came to a stop and unclicked their seatbelts.

Neither moved. Neither looked anywhere but straight ahead, out at the afternoon sun coming down on the dusty windshield.

Louis spoke first. It wasn’t really a choice. It wasn’t really a need to. It wasn’t even really a thought. He just asked the question hanging in the air, right there in the space between them, so easy to erase, but so impossible to cross. He just asked; “where does this leave us, then?”

Harry sighed, like he knew it was coming he would’ve asked the same if he’d had the courage. “I don’t know,” he said.

It didn’t feel like being let down easy. It didn’t feel like Harry sparing Louis’ feelings. It just felt like the truth. And oh, how it hurt.

It was all Louis could do not to crumble together right there in his seat and clutch where his chest burned.

He didn’t. He didn’t do or say a thing.

“Can you even look me in the eye?”

The question stayed there, frail and small and so easy to deny. But Louis couldn’t bring himself to lie. “No.”

Harry sighed again and it sounded like relief and disappointment at the same time. Like asking a question you already knew the answer to, but still hoping, _wishing_ , you might be wrong. “No,” he echoed, staring at the windshield, straining every muscle in his face not to break.

Louis knew that, knew it without having to know people or even having to know Harry. Knew it because he was doing it too.

So he looked at Harry, took in the masked hurt in his face and thought he might as well hurt himself too; “do you feel disgusted? With me, and - with what I’ve done with those other men?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” Louis echoed, stung. He’d gotten the honest answer and he’d never wished that he’d been lied to more in his life.

“Do you think you can get over it?”

Harry’s lips, his sore-bitten, wobbling lips, pressed into a tight line. And Louis had his answer right there, right in that line and the crease in the crook of Harry’s mouth. He still waited for Harry to say; “I don’t know yet.”

Louis scratched at his own chest, trying to calm his insides down, trying to focus all he had left in him on the pain in his skin, digging his nails into it till it hurt. “Do you love me the same still?”

Harry turned to look at him. Louis wished that he hadn’t. “Louis,” he said, thin-voiced and blank-eyed, “please don’t ask me that.”

“Why?” Louis pushed, scratching, _digging_ , at his own throat. “Just answer me. Why can’t you just say, yes or no, why can’t-”

“Because it’s a _fucking_ insult!” Harry barked, so sudden and loud that it jerked through Louis’ body. “Do you honestly think that I’m the sort of person who could just  stop loving you like the flick of a switch? Do you really think that I’m capable of controlling what I feel for you? If I was, _fuck_ I wish I was sometimes, then you’d have known. You’d have known. You should know. We wouldn’t be sitting right here, having this conversation, if I could control myself around you.”

Louis swallowed, hard. He fought to find the right words, find anything to say, but there wasn’t anything left. Nothing seemed important enough, nothing seemed like it would make a difference.

The only thing he really knew was that he loved Harry and, however disgusted he was, Harry loved him back. The only thing he’d known his entire life was that people could love each other, really truly love each other, and that didn’t have to mean a thing. In the end, it didn’t have to mean anything at all.

And then Harry looked at him again. “But,” he said, hesitantly, “listen, Lou. I don’t want to stay.” Right. Louis looked away, because he should’ve been prepared, he should’ve known this was coming, one day or the next, and yet he wasn’t. He couldn’t have prepared himself for how much it hurt to hear. Harry continued; “I don’t want to stay unless you tell me that you want me to. Because, sometimes I’m not even sure that- like, I don’t want to stay with someone who doesn’t care either way. And- and that’s what it seems like sometimes, Louis. That it’s fine for me to stay, but it’s just as fine if I don’t. And I can’t be that guy to you. I just can’t, not with you.”

 _Fine_. It wasn’t fucking fine. Nothing was fine about this. If Louis seemed fine, fine with Harry staying or going, then Louis was a much better actor than he’d thought. He wasn’t fine with Harry leaving. He’d never been less fine with anything in his life. But… he wasn’t fine with Harry staying either. If Harry did stay, then that meant he could still leave. Then that meant that, maybe one day, he’d get sick of it, get sick of Louis, and decide it was time to go. And Louis didn’t know if he’d be able to survive it if that day came, in five or ten years, if he’d grown accustomed to the idea of having Harry around.

So he didn’t respond. He didn’t say a thing.

“Please,” Harry said, almost a whisper, “just tell me that you want me to stay with you. If you do, then I will. If you tell me that you want that, then I’ll use everything I have to work through this with you. I’ll stay with you.” He touched the tips of his fingers to Louis’ cheek and it sent a jolt down Louis’ spine, the touch so light it was almost too much. “I’ll stay if you tell me that you want me to.”

Louis closed his eyes. If he didn’t, he might do something stupid. If he left Harry look into them, Harry might see right through him. See that Louis _did_ want him to stay, entirely selfishly, entirely true, wanted him to stay because he loved him.

He loved him and wanted to be loved by him more than he’d wanted by anyone. Wanted to wake up with him, see his smile every day, tell him all the little jokes and stories no one else would understand, pinch him when he was being too soppy. Hold him. Have Harry hold him back, every night, kiss his skin and make him feel safe.

And he wasn’t stupid. He knew Harry wanted all of that too. Knew all that Harry wanted right now was for Louis to give him those words and make them okay. But he also knew that Harry didn’t know what he’d want a year from now. A year from now, Harry might realise that he didn’t want to be trapped in a family of seven, didn’t want to be trapped where he couldn’t be young and go travel and talk about the future like he had the world at his feet. A year ago, Harry was somewhere else, and a year from now, he might want to  be somewhere entirely different. But Louis - Louis had always been here. A year ago, three years ago, ten years from now. He’d always been stuck.

However much he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Harry to stay stuck with him.

“I can’t,” he whispered.

“What?” Harry asked, and Louis couldn’t tell whether he hadn’t heard him or just couldn’t believe it.

“I can’t,” he repeated, as loud as he could manage. His chest hurt. It cut at his throat and he said again, “I can’t. I can’t tell you that right now.”

It was quiet for a moment. So painfully quiet.

Then Harry’s fingers disappeared from Louis’ skin. He sighed, like deflating completely.

Louis sat stiffly, keeping his eyes screwed shut. “I’m sorry.”

“You-” Harry’s voice cracked over. Louis bit into his lip, hard enough to draw blood. “You don’t want me to stay with you. That’s what you’re saying. You don’t want me anymore, that’s what you’re saying?”

He’d never say that. Even if he wanted to, he’d never be able to say that. “I can’t tell you that I want you to stay,” he managed, “I just don’t-”

“You don’t want me to stay,” Harry cut through, harder, “I get it, it’s- I get it, that’s - _fuck_.”

Louis crumbled in on himself, clutching his knees. “I’m sorry.”

“I- _fuck_ , I… can you- fuck, can you get out? Can you-” Harry threw an arm over Louis, shoving the passenger-door open, “get out, can you- I can’t- please get- get out. Get out now, Louis.”

Louis looked up at him. He was crying. “Harry-”

“Just get out.” Harry’s other hand was straining around the steering wheel, knuckles gone white. He pinned his gaze to the windshield and pushed at Louis. “Get out, _please_ get out.”

“I-”

“Louis, get the _fuck_ out of my car!” he yelled, slamming his fist into the steering wheel. “Just get the fuck out, _now_.”

Louis scrambled to get himself out on the pavement. He stopped without closing the door, looking at Harry not look at him back. “I’m sorry, Haz, this doesn’t mean-”

“Don’t.”

Harry slammed the passenger-door shut without looking at Louis once.

Then he drove.

He drove off, in his rusty old minivan, leaving Louis alone on the pavement, shaking. Louis wasn’t crying. He wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t begging for Harry to stay. He just stood there, shaking.

That was the last time he ever saw that rusty old minivan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the hardest one for me to write out of all the chapters in the fic. This took a long time to pull myself together to even start on. I'm sorry about it, I know that it's probably a really painful one to read for some who've grown attached to the characters. But please, don't let this stop you from reading. I hope you enjoyed, regardless of the sadness <3 
> 
>  
> 
> AND THIS IS NOT THE FINAL CHAPTER AT ALL, DONT WORRY.


	32. Chapter 32

“Got a hold of him?” Lottie asked, urgency in both her voice and expression, as Niall re-entered the house through the patio-doors.

Niall shook his head. “Tried him ten times now. How long can it take to hand over some money? I wouldn’t take that long unless…”

“Unless something’s gone wrong,” Lottie finished for him.

Niall’s jaw locked tight. He shook his head again, then turned to his phone. “I’m trying Harry.”

“Yeah,” Lottie exclaimed. “Yeah, Harry, try Harry  - why haven’t we tried Harry yet?”

Niall dialled the number and they waited in tense silence for him to pick up, long beeps resounding through the room. Chace, Tabatha and the kids were upstairs, packing, but Lottie hadn’t heard a thump or a yell for over twenty minutes so she assumed they’d all vegged out in front of the telly by now.

Right now, she didn’t care to bother them. It was late, much too late. Louis and Harry should’ve been back by now.

“Hello?!” Niall gasped suddenly.

Lottie’s head snapped up.

“Hello?” Niall repeated, straightening up in his seat, “Harry, is that you? Are you all-right? Yeah, yeah… whatever… whatever, are you _all right_?!” He waited with wide eyes until he got the answer he wanted, then deflated with a long sigh of relief. Lottie mimicked him the second she saw it. They were all right, then. They were all right. “Where are you guys? Why aren’t you back yet?”

Niall met Lottie’s gaze as he listened intently to Harry’s words. For once, Lottie couldn’t read him for the life of her.

After a long while, he nodded slowly and said; “all right… well, do you know where he is?”

Lottie frowned at him. Niall frowned back and repeated his question to Harry.

Suddenly, his eyes blew wide again. “You did  _what_?!” he exclaimed, “why the fuck would you do that?!”

Lottie opened her mouth to ask what 'that' was, but before she got to it, the front door was slammed open. She jumped out of her chair so fast it fell over and sprinted to the front-hall. “Louis!”

“Hey,” Louis muttered. His shoes looked torn and his hair was all over the place. He was carrying his jacket under his arm and the pocket’s of it might as well have been loaded with bricks, so drained he looked. “I’m home,” he said, redundantly.

“Babe,” Lottie said, warily moving closer to him. He backed up, just a little, just enough that it might’ve been a subconcious reaction. She studied his face. His eyes were red. A little bit swollen. “Are you all right?”

“Lou,” Niall blurted, passing her to give Louis a hug that looked more intrusive than anything with the way his entire body tensed in it. He looked like a frail little twig, so thin and stiff at the same time that the force of Niall's arms might be enough to crack himright over. “Jesus, you had us worried _sick_!" Niall lamented, "what’s this with Harry leaving you on the side of the road? What the fuck is that about?”

“Leaving you on the side of the road?” Lottie echoed, her gaze snapping to Niall and then back to Louis again, confused.

Louis just sighed and shook his head. “It’s whatever,” he muttered.

“But, like - who the fuck _does_ that?” Niall pummelled on, beginning to tug Louis’ torn-up trainers off for him as he slumped down on the first step of the stairway. “Why the fuck would he just leave you there? Did you punch him again or summat?”

Louis shook his head again, slowly. “Didn’t punch him.”

“What, then? Did- is Harry all right? Did those bloke’s have an issue with him or-”

“No, no. No, nothing like that.” Louis sighed again, rubbing his hands over his puffy face. “Look, it’s nothing like that. It's- we just, uhm… we basically came to the conclusion that we, eh - we don't…”

“He broke up with you?” Niall blurted, cutting him right off.

“ _Niall_!” Lottie exclaimed, because it seemed quite an insensitive thing to blurt at the time. No less true, though, judging from the look on Louis’ face.

“Yeah, we- it’s… I think,” he shook his head again, this time at himself, “yeah, it's - I think that - that that’s done, it’s- yeah, we’ll have to find another car to move our stuff, basically.”

“Wait, so- he broke up with you? After all that, he just broke up with you, just like that?” Niall, the oblivious prick, continued.

It was all Lottie could do not to slap him up the back of the head.

Louis rubbed a hand over his face again and gave a sharp sniffle before finally looking up again. His eyes were redder. “Yeah,” he breathed, “yeah, and - and I don’t want you guys to make big a thing of it, okay? Can you guys please just - please just leave it be.”

“But- what kind of an arsehole just breaks-”

“It’s not like that,” Louis cut through, “it’s - _fuck_!” he slammed his palm against the railing of the stairway, “ _fuck_ , guys, can you please leave it be? Can we just- can we just act like it’s not a thing, okay? I’m fine, I’ll be fine, I just - Harry isn’t… he’s probably not coming around anymore and that’s it. That’s it.”

It looked like it hurt just to say it. Like saying it out loud surprised Louis with the harsh truth of it, because he had to bury into his hands again.

Niall looked like he was about to go in for another hug, but then stopped himself halfway, thank fuck.

Lottie rested a hand on his shoulder, just in case he changed his mind, and turned to Louis again; “okay. But you know we’re here to talk.”

Louis ripped his head out of his hands and turned around before they could get another look at his face. “Thanks, but it’s - it's fine. I’m just - tired, okay?” he said as he dragged himself up the stairs. He stopped halfway. “Oh and please,” he added, his voice suddenly so small that Lottie wanted to leap up the stairs and hug him against his will, “ _please_ don’t think that I’m heartbroken or anything. Please don’t patronize me about this. I fucked the guy for a couple of weeks. It meant what it meant and it means nothing now. So please don’t make it into something that… that it wasn’t. Okay?”

They nodded. He nodded back at them, then turned around and disappeared up the stairs.

“Wow,” Niall said, slumping down on the first step of the stairway to look at Lottie, “what a fucking arsehole, Harry.”

“Well,” Lottie said, crossing her arms over her chest and resisting her inbuilt urge to instantly agree with him, “it’s not like Louis gave us the whole story. We wouldn’t know what’s gone down.”

“Still,” Niall huffed, “even if Louis called him a cunt and tried to light him on fire, I’d still be on his side.”

“Well, of course. Even if he killed Harry’s mum and fucked his father, we’d be on his side,” Lottie reasoned, “but… I didn’t think that Harry was the kind of guy who’d just up and leave. I know most guys are, but - he seemed quite… quite keen on Lou.”

Niall snorted a laugh. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

“My point exactly,” Lottie agreed, “I just hope Louis didn’t say something stupid, you know, out of insecurities or summat.”

“Well, a proper man wouldn’t leave someone they cared about on the side of the road just because they said something stupid one time.”

“No… I guess not,” Lottie rested her hand on the ledge of the stairway and thought for a moment. Then she said; “what I mean is just - just that I hope Lou didn’t say something that could really hurt someone like Harry. Someone who doesn’t get it because he’s not been through what Lou has.”

“What could he possibly have said that could make a grown man leave someone they love like the flick of a switch?”

“I dont know,” Lottie sighed, “I just hope it wasn’t something stupid, you know. Things have ended over stupid stuff before. I don’t think it’s right if something as un-stupid as Harry and Louis together ended over something stupid that got taken the wrong way. It’d just be…”

“Like a broken pencil.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled dryly, “pointless.”

 

*

Sadly, Tabatha’s new car didn’t have half as much space to hold the family’s belongings as Harry’s minivan would have. Even sadder, it still had more than enough. They spent the morning packing up and saying their goodbye’s to the bedroom they’d all lived in for the past three weeks. It felt more nostalgic than Lottie would’ve expected. She hadn’t lived here for long and she’d come back again in a minute, but it still felt like the end of something special. She imagined this was what it felt like when you went a family vacation for two weeks and finally had to pack everything up and leave the hotel-room. Two weeks was nothing. It could feel like an eternity still.

They drove to Niall’s flat and picked rooms. Louis insisted on taking the futon in the livingroom, installing Freddie’s crib in the space beside it and pushing all of his clothes and belongings in a basket underneath it. The toddler’s got the smallest bedroom to themselves, and Niall put a railroad play mat from the junkyard in there to make them screech and fawn at for over an hour. Fizzy, Phoebe and Daisy took the big bedroom, Niall kept his to himself and Lottie was granted the last one. All to herself.

It would’ve been exciting. It should've been absolutely elating, getting a room to herself for the first time in her life. It would’ve been, if not for the elephant in the room.

Or rather, the lack of it.

Harry hadn’t been a part of their family for long, but it felt more obvious than anything that he was missing. Obvious in the constant dull expression on Louis’ face when he forgot to pretend for a second, or the way his voice went fake and high-pitched when he fooled around with the toddler’s. The way his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

It felt palpable, almost; the hurt he insisted wasn't there.

Lottie understood now what people meant when they said a chain was only as strong as it’s weakest link. This family, however crazy and inappropriate and dysfunctional it was, was a chain. However much one member could hate the other in a moment of anger, they’d love them a million times more in a moment of need. They’d feel it, even the little ones, even the ones who didn’t know or didn’t understand what was going on, they’d all feel it. If Louis was sad, even if he didn’t want them to see, even if what he wanted most in the world was for them not to, they were all sad. It was just part of the package.

So it was terrible. Behind the jokes and the stitched-on smiles, it was all so terrible. Seeping through everyone like poison, from one end of the chain to the other, invisible, but no less real. It was shit, this. Seeing daddy sad.

 

The first night spent in the first room she’d ever had to herself, Lottie couldn’t sleep. She wasn’t the only one. She pretended not to notice how Louis closed his eyes the second he saw her padding through the livingroom. She pretended not to notice how he was just lying there, in the dark of the night, staring blankly at the ceiling. She pretended not to, because she knew if she didn’t, he’d pretend she was crazy.

She passed him without a word and crept in bed with Fizzy and the twins. She spent the night there, not sleeping a single second. She spent the night there, staring at the ceiling and hurting, because she knew her big brother was in the next room, doing exactly the same.


	33. Chapter 33

He was all right. It’d been a week now and he was all right. When he woke in the mornings, and the daylight hit his face, the laughter and chat of his family getting ready around him, he was all right. For the first few moments, as his mind slowly awakened, he was perfectly fine.

People bopped around him, going about their business. Freddie cuddled up to his chest and purred happily when Louis kissed his soft little head. The toddlers waddled in, climbed up on the futon and played with his feet. Niall laughed at something that wasn’t half-funny and gave him a terrible cup of tea.

He was all right.

Then the kids left for school. Niall left to take them there. The toddlers left to play in their room. Freddie fell asleep.

And Louis came back to reality.

It wasn’t an open-wounded sort of pain. Wasn’t the kind where you feared you might actually die from  heart-ache. It wasn’t even a heart-break, really. His heart felt intact enough, at least intact enough to beat in his chest. It wasn’t anything like that. It wasn’t like it’d been when he was younger, or when he wasn’t, and he’d been left. It didn’t make him want to scream or cry or even sit there and sulk in self-pity.

It was mostly the little things.

Like seeing something stupid on telly and knowing only one person would get the joke if he’d made it. Like standing in the kitchen and fucking up Freddie’s formula and banging his head against the counter and expecting a voice to tell him not to hurt himself automatically, almost hearing that rusty drawl, almost feeling the hot breath against nape of his neck, and then remembering; he’d never get to feel that again.

The night’s were the worst.

He lied awake for hours. He did manage to fall asleep at last, most nights anyway, when he drew Freddie out of his crib and kept him close. But the hours before he finally fell into the sweet oblivion of sleep were so dreadful. So long. He didn’t miss the sex, not yet anyway. He didn’t miss the kisses or the pillow-talks, not yet. He just missed, as childish and pathetic as it sounded, being held. He missed the arms around him, the smell and the warmth of Harry on him. He missed it so intensely, remembered the feel of it so vividly, that the mere thought of letting someone else do it just to fill the void made him want to cry.

But he’d get over it. He knew how to have people leave and he knew how to make it be okay. If he didn't, he wouldn't be the man he was today.

 

Niall came home from the grocer at 1 pm friday afternoon. Louis was lying in bed, toddler’s running around somewhere out of sight and Freddie down for a nap. He hadn’t bothered getting dressed, couldn’t remember the last time he'd had a reason to.

“Buy cigarette’s?” Louis asked, because he was smoking his last one now and the prospects of not having another between his fingers the second it died seemed impossible.

Niall chucked a fresh pack at him. “Thought we weren’t doing that inside?” he muttered, feigning irritation.

The other days, Louis had tried not to smoke inside when Niall was there. Niall knew he was doing it anyway, because the room reeked almost aggressively, but it had seemed like something to do. Making a point of at least caring enough to lie. Today though, he hadn’t bothered putting down his cigarette in time. Maybe he’d thought Niall wouldn’t be home for another fifteen minutes. Maybe he'd just hoped Niall wouldn't notice. Maybe he’d just found Harry’s boxers in the laundry and cut them up with scissors and launched them over the balcony when he'd found they’d been rinsed of his smelll.

“Lou,” Niall sighed, sitting down with him. Louis braced himself for a half-arsed reprimand about the smoking. It didn’t come. Niall picked a smoke out and beckoned for Louis to light it for him. He took a long drag, puffed out into the room and sighed again, before he finally said something; “I’m starting work next week.”

“Oh.” Louis knew he’d gotten some gig at some car-shop. He’d been told it was one week or the next. He hadn't forgotten. He'd just filed it away in the cabinette with all the other stuff he couldn't quite bring himself to care about right now. “Uhm… cool. Good.”

Niall took another drag of his cigarette, then looked Louis over, a taught crease between his brows. “Are you going to be all right?”

“What do you mean?” Louis barked, offended by the softness of Niall's voice. He wasn’t some wreck. He hadn’t been acting like a wreck. He’d been doing his chores, he’d been tending to the kids. He wasn’t some wreck to pity and fuss over. “Of course I am. Been fine since you left, be fine when you leave again.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a cunt,” he said, “I’m only asking out of love.”

Louis snorted. Love.

“Sorry, did I just utter a word on the list of words we can’t say around you now?”

“Cunt.”

“Lou,” Niall rested a hand on Louis’ knee, offering a small smile, “talk to me. It’s shitty, this - this, walking on egg-shells-thing. You know I’m no good for that.”

“You don’t have to walk on egg-shells,” Louis bit, “you don’t have to do anything differently. Nothing’s different.”

For a second, Niall looked like he was about to object, but then he just rolled his gaze away and sighed. “Jesus, darling.”

“I’m not your darling.”

“So stop acting like a passive-agressive little darling, then. You’re all- I don’t know, man. Do you really think you’ll get over shit by pretending it didn’t happen at all? I feel like I can’t even mention his name without blowing the house up or summat.”

“You can mention whatever you want.”

Niall’s mouth dropped open. Then it closed again, around his fag. He didn’t say the name. He didn’t say the name, because he couldn’t say it, even though he could. For all Louis cared, he could shout it from the rooftops. But… well, Louis couldn’t account for how it might make him feel. He supposed some things were better left un-tested.

Louis sighed. “Shit gets better. Of course I’m fuckin’ gutted, I really liked the guy. But shit gets better. It always does.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

Niall turned to quirk a brow at him. “Referring to your break-up as ‘shit’ doesn’t make it any less shit.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I… christ, I don’t know, but - if it’s shit, then it’s shit. And if you act like it’s just random shit, like, I don’t fuckin’ know, stepping on a pile of dog-shit, then you, like - you trivialize it. You trivialize the shit. And this isn't trivial shit. It’s like… it’s pretty big shit, isn’t it? I mean, you loved Ha- the bloke, didn’t ya? You loved him.”

Louis shook his head. “Whatever.” Whether he did or he didn't, it wouldn't matter now. Saying the truth sure as fuck wouldn't help anything. He still ended up saying it, because Niall wouldn't stop staring, “all right, yeah. Yeah, I guess I did, but-”

“And I can tell you, just from watchin that bloke, he loved the shit out of you too. Whatever made him run, it- it can’t have been about you, man. It can't have been, he couldn't keep his eyes off of you for the life of him, that bloke. It wasn't you, I can tell you that, it just can't have been. It can't - it can't, unless you, ehm…” he paused, chewing on his lips for a second, “unless - Louis, did you say something callous to him? Something thoughtless?”

“What do you mean? Mate, can you cut this shit, I’m not trying to get into a whole shebang about-”

“Me neither. I’m asking you a simple question, babe; did you say something stupid that might’ve made him think he'd better just leave?”

God. It seemed however much Louis tried not to be a blatant blubbering idiot, people seemed to have a nack for figuring him out. Well, Niall, anyway. “Listen,” Louis said, “whatever I said to him, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Well, maybe if you took it back you could make him-”

“No, look- I know you want us to be back together because you think that’ll make me happy. But I’ve only been a bit mopey for a week, I think I deserve to have a week or two to be that. Don’t I?”

“Wh- yeah, no, of course you do. It’s not- it’s not because we want to…” Niall stopped, then shook his head at himself, “no, you know what, you're right, I suppose it is a bit selfish, you’re right. But in the end, we just want you to be happy, that’s all. Is that selfish?”

“Probably. But I don’t blame you.” Louis forced a little smile. Niall reciprocated. Louis took another drag of his fag and then decided he might as well get it out of the world. Maybe they’d all stop pestering him then; “he asked me to tell him to stay.”

“What?”

“He asked me to tell him that I wanted him to stay. To stay with me. For good.”

“Okay…? Well, that’s not so bad, is it?”

“No, but.. It’s more complicated than that. I can’t tell someone to stay here, because… I know what 'here' is like. He doesn’t know what it’s like to _actually_ be stuck here. For him, it’s a choice whether he stays or he go’s. If I tell him to stay and he does, he’ll feel obligated not to leave me. He’ll feel stuck with me. I don’t want that. Does that make sense?”

Niall thought for a moment. “Yeah,” he said eventually, “no, it actually makes perfect sense.”

“Right.” End of.

They sat for a while, quietly.

Then Niall looked at him, eyes a little fiery, and said; “that bloke’s a fuckin’ arsehole if he knows what you’re about and expects you to tell him to stay with you after a few fuckin’ weeks. I mean, who the hell does he think he is? If he thinks you’ll feel all right telling him to stay after knowing you a few fuckin’ weeks - I don’t care how great his cock is - that’s fuckin’ conceited. Then he’s more of a bloody thick-skull than i thought. And I thought he was pretty damn thick-skulled when i met him, mind you.”

Louis laughed. It’d been a while since he’d done that, he realised; laughed. It felt both lovely and wrong at the same time. He let it happen, laughed until his laughter wasn’t natural anymore and then laughed at his own fake laughter and Niall’s ridiculous one.

“Did have a great fuckin’ cock, though,” he sighed, once the fits had finally faded.

“I know, bloke wasn’t very shy about it.”

“Like, I’m not sure I’ll ever find anyone with that great a cock again. You know, the pool of good gay men’s already small as it is. Add in the fact that most gay men seem to be bottoms, I’ve got precisely naught to pick from.”

Niall grinned, sliding his hand up Louis’ thigh. “I can give the gay thing a go if you want. I’ve been told my cock’s quite all right.”

Louis grinned back, arching a brow, “yeah?”

“M-hm, and my stamina’s pretty good too. Can’t promise you anything, though, I’ve heard anal’s a bit tighter.”

Louis broke the mask, barking a laugh and whacking Niall’s hand off of him. “You’re disgusting. And _as if_ you haven’t tried anal before, you’re the perviest person I know.”

“Not true, Harry told me he peed on someone once.”

Louis’ face froze. It could’ve been funny. It should’ve been funny. It wasn’t very funny at all.

“ _Barry_ ,” Niall blurted, “ _Barry_ told me he peed on someone once. This guy, _Barry_ , that I know.”

Louis thew his arms over his face, giving a sad sort of laugh. “Jesus, man. When did I turn into this pathetic wreck?”

“Oh, darling,” Niall scooted up to his side, attempting at a cuddle, but getting pushed off immediately, “you’ve always been a pathetic wreck. That’s why I love you. Makes me look better at your side.”

“Shut up or I’ll punch you in the gut.”

“All right, all right,” Niall conceded, but of course, after a bit, “Barry would’ve found that funny.”

Louis punched him in the gut.


	34. Chapter 34

Another three days had passed when Louis got the call. It was a grey-weathered, half-raining, half-just-on-the-brink-of-it-sort of day; the first day that actually gave a proper excuse to stay inside. Niall was off on his first day at the mechanic's and Louis was home with the children, as per usual.

Then he got the call.

“Louis,” said the deep familiar voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Louis’ stomach dropped. He’d known this was coming. He'd been anticipating it, somewhere in the back of his mind, but it hadn’t mattered, not since things had become so confusing and crazy and sad all at once. He’d almost begun to believe it would just go away by itself if he didn't think about it. But of course such things didn’t. Real people with real jobs and real bosses couldn’t just leave everything be and expect it to stay so.

“Frank,” Louis said, after clearing his throat so hard it stung, “I know what you’re going to say. Do I need to come down there in person? I’ve got the kids with me and-”

“I’d really prefer it if you did come down here. I need to see that you’re all right. We’ve been worried about you. Zayn's been a champ for covering your shifts, but even he says hasn’t heard a peep from you in weeks. And what with the frantic state you were in last I saw you… we were beginning to think something terrible might've happened.”

Well. “No. No, no, I’m fine, I’m really- I’m good. I’m fine.”

“All right. Then you’ll have no problem popping down here for a quick chat. I won’t hold you for long.”

*

Half an hour and five cigarette’s later, Louis had the toddler’s packed in the double-trolley that Tabatha had bought them - he still didn’t know how to thank her or how to feel about the gesture at all -  and Freddie strapped to his chest. Dustrain tapped their rain-hood covered heads as they strolled down the pavement. Louis’ hair and sweater clung to his body. He hadn’t bothered to put on a jacket, because, well - he couldn’t bring himself to care enough. The toddler’s were happy, catching rain-drops in their chubby little hands and trying to grab them on their tongues. Freddie was calm as well, chewing idly at Louis’ collarbone. The kids were all right and that was all he could manage to worry about these days. Since they seemed quite content, today was an all right day.

Or, it _would've_ been, if not for the fact that Louis was now on his way down to Frank’s to get formally sacked.

The shop was busy when he arrived, or as busy as it got on a rainy day, and Zayn was nowhere in sight. Louis made a beeline for the backrooms, not bothering with formalities or reacting to the odd look the girl behind the till gave him.

He headed into Franks office with his gaze pinned to the floor and spoke before he even looked at the man before him; “let’s get this over with.”

“Louis,” Frank replied, and then didn’t speak for so long that Louis was forced to look up and meet his patronizing smile, “please sit down.”

“There’s really no need, is there? I know what you’re going to say. Just get it over with.”

“Hi, you little piglets,” Frank said, turning to the toddler's and pointedly ignoring Louis' pleads, “do you like candies?” he pulled a few hard-candies from his desk-drawer, waving them at their curious little faces.

Louis tugged on both their hands to hold them back. “They can’t eat those, are you mental? They’ll choke, for flip's sake.”

Frank finally ripped his gaze off the kids, then glanced at Louis and nodded. He put the candies away, much to the toddler’s dismay, and beckoned for Louis to come sit. “Please.”

“Please yourself,” Louis replied, because he couldn’t be bothered with politeness when he knew he didn’t have to, “just fire me already. How hard can it be, I was a bloody barista, not a partner in a lawfirm or summat.”

Frank laughed. “Jesus, Louis,” he said, waving for the chair once again, “please, take a seat. For crying out loud, aren’t you tired from carrying that baby at your chest?”

He was, a little bit. But Freddie was no near heavy enough to make Louis’ pride budge, nor his knees. “Do you want _me_ to quit, is that it?” he asked, “is it some kind of a contract-thing where it’s better for you if _I_  say I quit first so you don’t have to sack me? Because if that’s the case, then I’m only quitting if I know that you’re sacking me if I don’t.”

Frank chuckled. “You’re talking gibberish, Louis. Just sit down. I don’t think I’m going to say what you think I’m going to say.”

“No - I think you’re going to say _exactly_ what I think you’re going to say, except you’re probably going to phrase it differently to make it seem like it was _my_ idea. But I’m a lot of things and stupid isn’t one of them, so just spare me the formalities and sack me so I can go home, please.”

“Louis,” Frank sighed, “I’m not going to sack you.”

“So you want me to quit?”

“No. I’m not going to sack you and I don’t want you to quit. If I wanted you gone, I would’ve sacked you over the phone.”

Louis shifted weight, confused. “Then what the hell am I down here for? Can’t you see my children are starving?”

The children were fine. But that wasn’t the point.

“Yes, that’s why I offered them candy, but that was a stupid idea,” Frank said, “now sit down, because you might want to before I explain this to you.”

“What would I possibly need to sit down for that isn’t a sacking and isn’t-”

“Jesus Christ, kid, sit your arse down!”

Louis’ mouth dropped open. He considered a few retorts, but figured they’d only prove Frank’s ‘kid’-remark right, so instead he obliged and took a seat across from his boss. He drew the toddlers into his lap, then raised his brows at him. “All right. I’m sitting. Go on, then.”

Frank smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Louis,” he began, “as you may have noticed - although I hold up all right, if I may say so myself - I’m no young bird any more.”

“Yeah, you’re old. Got it. What’s your point?”

Frank laughed. “I like you, Louis. You’re funny.”

“Okay, so you’re old and you like me. Is this a sexual proposition, because I’m not really in the mood-”

“Jesus, no, have some faith in humanity, _God_. No. _No_. I’m a married man, for Christ's sake,” Frank laughed, tapping the ring deeply set in his swollen ring-finger. “No, listen; I’m a married man and I have been for longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve also been working for most of that time. Now, the kids are out of the home, little Dorothy went off with her boyfriend just last year and…”

“Is this going anywhere?”

“- have patience. And my old lady wants me to take her up on the promise I gave her far too many kids ago.”

“And…?”

“We’re going to buy an autocamper and travel Europe. I’ve got money saved and it’s about time.”

“Right.” Louis paused for a second. “So… where do I fit into all of this?”

“Well,” Frank smiled, “someone has to take over managing this place if I’m not around.”

“Wait-” Louis straightened up, not on purpose, but out of utter shock. “Wait, hang on - you want _me_ to take over?”

“You’re the best man I’ve got,” Frank reasoned, “minus these last couple weeks, of course, but I’m sure you’ve had your reasons.”

Louis still couldn’t process it. “ _Me_?”

“You,” Frank insisted, “you, Louis. You’re not terrible just because you’ve flaked for a few weeks. Hell, most of my employee’s are full-time flakes. In all of the years I’ve had young people come and go here, you've been the most responsible employee I've seen. I don’t care who shows up to office parties or who jokes around with me when I come in to check. I care who stays in the job and genuinely cares about it. Who doesn’t flake on a shift because of hang-overs or laziness. And you’re that guy. I’d be both personally happy to hand this place over to you, because I know it helps more than just yourself, and from a business point of view, I’d trust you with it. You’re stable and reliable. That’s a hell of a great achievement at your age. You should pride yourself on that some more. You’re something quite out of the ordinary, kid. Don’t think that goes unnoticed just because you aren’t one to brag.”

“Right.”

Right.

 

*

“Hey! Oi! Hey! Louis, man! Tomlinson!”

Louis sighed, forcing himself to look up. “Hi, Zayn, what’s up?”

Zayn tugged on the strap of his shoulder-bag and smiled, reaching up to Louis outside of Frank’s. “I’m on my way in for my afternoon shift. Jeez, I haven’t seen you in weeks. I thought you’d offed yourself.”

“Right, uhm, that’s- that’s morbid,” Louis muttered, tigthening his hands around the toddlers’ to keep them from running into the streets and offing themselves. “But, eh, no. No, I’m… pretty much alive.”

Zayn laughed. “ _Pretty much alive_ ,” he snorted, “what the hell’s been going on with you? - I mean, I’m not complaining, I’ve been earning double sallery for all the shifts you’ve flaked on this past month. Even bought myself a new used car.”

“Is it new then?”

Zayn blinked. “What?”

“If it’s used. Is it really new, then? It’s not, is it? If it’s, eh… if it’s used.” Christ, Louis' mind wasn’t working.

Zayn’s gaze flicked around. “Ehm… so anyway, how are you?”

“I’m- I’m… I’ve just been offered the entire shop.”

“What?”

“Frank’s. He’s retiring soon. He wants me to take over.”

Zayn’s eyes blew wide, his brows rising in a way that made Louis want to groan at the impending outburst of elation it threatened; “That’s incredible, Lou! Jesus, mate, that’s - jesus fuck,” he slapped Louis on the arm, twice. It seemed to be meant as a cheerful thing, but it made Freddie start to cry. “Oh jeez, sorry, man.”

“That’s all right.”

Zayn nodded. His gaze flicked again. Louis could say something. Louis could always say something. He’d never been one for awkward silences and never been terrible at avoiding them either. But right now, he just couldn’t find the energy to spend on making conversation. He wanted his bed. He wanted not to have his heart jump every time someone that looked even remotely like Harry passed him on the street. He wanted to be able to feel fucking elated about what he’d just been told and not have it overshadowed by the immense sadness that came with not being able to tell the one person he wanted to the most.

And he sure as hell didn’t want to stand here right now, in provocatively sudden sunlight, making small-talk.

“Well, anyway,” Zayn said finally, “Gotta crack on,” he gave Louis another slap, right on the sore spot, “see you around, mate.”

“Yep.”

Zayn dissapeared just as fast as he reappeared. Louis didn’t even have the time to take half a step before Zayn’s voice called out, “hey, Lou, by the way!”

It was all Louis could do not to scream ‘I don’t want to fucking talk! Not to you, not to anyone, not to anyone in the entire world because the only person i want to talk to right now doesn’t want to ever talk to me again and that just makes talking to anyone else so inherently sad!’. It was all he could do.

“Ehm…” Zayn glanced down at the kids. Doris was picking her nose and Ernest was one step ahead of her, eating a booger, “eh,” he stepped a little closer, lowering his voice, “I don’t know if this is any of my business or what, but, eh- you and Harry, right? Are you, like-”

“No,” Louis cut through quickly, “no, we’re not. We broke up.”

“Oh,” Zayn’s shoulders fell. He almost looked… relieved. “Oh, okay, then… ehm, yeah then nevermind.”

He moved to turn, but the great big idiot had just done the one thing in the world that could make Louis want to not let him leave. He grabbed Zayn by the shoulder, hissing, “no, you can’t just do that! What? What were you going to say?”

“It’s- no, it’s nothing,” he shook his head at himself, “it’s nothing, really.”

“Well, if it’s nothing then it can’t be that bloody hard to spit out, can it? Come on. Spill.”

Zayn bit his lip, looking frazzled still. Then he sighed and shrugged a shoulder, “it probably wasn’t anything, but I just, uhm… well, the other night I was walking home from a friend's house and i just saw, eh - well, I’m not really sure what i saw, but it just looked like… I dunno.”

“Looked like what?” Louis pressed, trying to overpower whatever was clawing it’s way up his throat, “what did you see, Zayn?”

“Just, I- I thought i saw Harry with, eh - with a bird, like. They looked a little… cosey, I guess.”

And just like that, the air was punched out of Louis’ chest. He felt sick. “Wha- when- wh- when did you see that?”

“Ehm, I don’t…” Zayn glanced at Louis with a look on his face like he feared might get punched for answering, but then went ahead anyway, “yesterday. Yesterday night. So, eh… yester _night_ , I guess, eh heh… no, no, that’s not funny.”

No. That wasn’t funny. Louis stomach was turning, tying itself up in knots and threating to shoot up through his throat. “What, eh - what she look like?” he still somehow managed.

“I don’t,” Zayn threw a hand out dismissively, clearly unhappy with the weight of the situation. Louis could care less. “Slim, i guess, eh- blonde. Dunno. Just a bird, like.”

Louis swallowed hard. “Right. A bird. Right, okay, eh, did-”

“Ow, my haaand!” Doris whined suddenly.

“Oh, shit,” Louis exclaimed, realising he was squeezing her hand so hard she was hurting. “Shit, sorry, hun, I-”

“Well, it was probably nothing, mate. Anyway, you guys aren’t together anymore so I guess it doesn't matter. See you around,” Zayn rattled quickly, then ran off like his arse was on fire.

And Louis stood there, with three kids on his hands, and felt so alone. Harry had a new girl. He was out there, meeting people and taking them out and taking them home and fucking them after. He was over Louis, and if he wasn’t, he would be soon. He was under other people, with pretty slim blondes and probably falling in love with someone else’s face as he traced their cheekbones with his thumb after sex and called them beautiful and oh-

Louis felt sick. So, so sick.


	35. Chapter 35

He just couldn't make sense of it, was all. He couldn't  put the puzzle-pieces together and have them fit in such a way that the final outcome would be comprehensible to his mind. Maybe that was really the worst of it; the complete and utter incomprehensibility of it. 

The heart-ache he knew by now. The heart-ache he could cope with. It sat right there in his chest and he knew what it was and why it was there and that maybe, hopefully some day it wouldn't be anymore. Even the bruise to his ego, the purely selfish part of him that had to realise and accept how utterly replacable he really was, he could deal with. All of those things, which could arguably be the worst parts of it, he could survive.

But it was the stuff he didn't understand that kept nagging him. That kept him awake at night, that took him out of conversation at the dinner-table and into the world of his mind, going over the same questions time and time again without finding any answers. 

He'd been rather sure that, if nothing else, he wasn't being conceited in thinking that Harry had loved him too. It'd felt so obvious, so unmistakable, that it couldn't have been wishful projections of Louis' own feelings, it just _couldn't_ have. The way Harry had looked at him, the way that he'd acted, the things he'd said and the way that he'd said them - hell, the stuff that'd made him fuck them up entirely -, those things wouldn't have come from a person who wasn't in love. Throughout their whole thing, the one issue Louis hadn't thought to worry about was the issue of the love. It'd been there, it had. Too strong and too passionate and too much all too soon, but so fantastically mutual, like an inside joke only two people got just by meeting each other's eyes. It'd been undeniable. He'd thought.

But maybe that was where he'd gone wrong.

He wasn't as stupid or masochistic as to begin to tell himself that Harry hadn't meant any of the things he'd said. He had probably meant them, right when he'd said them, right in the moment. But that had been the extent of it; the moment.

It still didn't quite make sense in Louis' head, though; how a person could mean something so much in one moment and then mean something entirely different the next. He'd heard of people - hell, he'd even known some - who lived by the saying 'out of sight, out of mind', whether conciously or not. 

It'd just never occured to him that Harry might be one of them.

 

“Look, just 'cause he’s out with someone else doesn’t mean he’s over you. In fact, it could be a desperate ploy to try and get over you,” Niall offered, as Louis had spilled his mind after three beers and a joint on the balcony after the kids were down. “People fuck random people all the time. Doesn’t mean they aren’t in love with other people just the same.”

“Hm,” Louis replied, because he knew that already and it didn't change a thing. Didn't make this constant ache residing in his chest one bit less terrible. “I mean, I just - I still can’t imagine letting anyone else touch me yet. It'd only make it worse.”

“Well, you don’t know if fucking that blonde made Harry worse. Very well could have.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why? Because you want to believe that all people are terrible sociopath’s who leave you and forget your name the second you're out of sight?”

Louis sighed. “I don’t _want_ to believe that. I’m not some bloody emotional masochist.”

“No. Exactly,” Niall said, as if that proved some point he’d made in his head, “you’re a rationalist. You always have been and that’s why you’re always just a tiny bit depressed and your sense of irony is exquisite.”

“Exquisite,” Louis snorted, “added to the vocabulary since we’ve been in London, have we?”

“Don’t deflect-”

“Deary me, there’s another one.”

Niall chuckled dryly. He stubbed his fag out and made to stand up. “I’m going to bed,” he announced, “and all I’m saying is that you’ve always been a realist, but now you’ve suddenly turned into this delusionally self-blaming masochist. That’s not you, Lou. Harry isn’t over you; he’s just fucking other people because he's lonely. And you’re not over him either; you’re just fucking yourself over because you get some sick pleasure out of wallowing in the pain. Neither's good for shit.”

“So what do you suppose I do then, wise guy?”

“Right now?” Niall kicked at his cigarette-butt until it rolled over the edge of the balcony. “Go to bed. Tomorrow? Answer Frank’s calls.”

 

*

Louis sighed, checking himself in the mirror again. He tugged at the collar of the blue button-down Lottie had been so lovely as to iron for him. He dragged a finger through the wallet full of bills that Niall had been so nice as to lend him. He glanced over his shoulder, checking on the little ones, who Tabatha had been so sweet as to offer to babysit for him. 

Everyone had been so lovely, so nice, so _sickeningly_ sweet. It was driving him insane. 

He sighed again and forced himself to straigthen up. “I'll be back in a few," he said to Tabatha, “and Niall should be home from work in an hour or so." 

“Allrighty, you have a good time, dear." 

“Yeah. Thanks." Louis attempted to drag a hand through his hair before remembering that Lottie had gelled it back for him before she'd left for her movie-date with Chace. He rubbed the tacky goo off in his coat and pushed his shoulders back, level-heading with himself in the mirror. "I'll try to." 

 

He headed to the restaurant on feet, having declined the ten million offers of a lift that he'd been attacked with ever since Frank had invited him out. He appreciated their eager attempts at cheering him up, he really did, but he still couldn't stand being around them. It was all he could do not to scream when they babied him, fussed around him like a teenager who'd just downed a bottle of Aspirin's after getting stood up by their prom date. 

Right now, he just couldn't handle the prospects of having to sit in the car and pretend not to notice their constant worried glances, checking up on him, keeping an eye on him. He might be young and, yes, he might be heartbroken, but he refused to be their fucking charity case. He refused to be their little fucking wreck, because he _wasn't_ , he wasn't a _fucking_ _wreck_. 

He was as good as he could be right now. And right now, he could be good enough to walk himself to a business-dinner without deteriorating.

"Hiya," Frank pipped as Louis approached him outside the Italian restaurant he'd picked out for them, then slapped Louis violently on the back as soon as he was within reach, a failed attempt at a casual greeting, "great to see you outside of work, mate," he followed up, "you look- you look... not ill." 

Right. "Well... Thanks, I guess," Louis muttered, forcing a chuckle. 

"No, you know what I mean, bloke, you look fresh, is what I mean," Frank chattered, grabbing Louis' shoulder and ruffling it, a little too roughly, "got a bit of colour in you." 

"Yeah, ehm - thanks. Been out for a walk today," Louis lied for no particular reason.

The colour in his face couldn't be attributed to anything else than the brown powder-shit Lottie had insisted on blotting all over his face, but at least it looked natural enough that Frank believed his bullshit.  Or maybe Louis just looked so ill that Frank was trying to humour him to keep him from offing himself. Either way, it was better than being confronted with questions he didn't feel like answering. 

"Well, then, let's head in," Frank said, nodding toward the front entrance of the cosy little place they were dining at. He lead them into a small front-room with burgundy walls, rich darkwood floors and dim lighting. A guitar-ballad streamed lowly from speakers in the corners of the ceiling and a pretty hostess stood behind a high desk, welcoming them with a wide smile.

" _Benvenuto_ ," she said in a low soft hum, fitting the air of the restaurant perfectly, "reservations?"

"Yes, yes, reservations for two," Frank said, placing both palms on her desk and rattling off his surname.

The hostess found their reservations in a second, but then made the terrible mistake of initiating a bit of polite banter with Frank. It somehow set him off into a long spiel about his childhood and the poor girl just smiled nervously, too polite to cut him off. 

Louis crossed his arms over his chest, keeping just far enough behind Frank the he didn't feel obligated to join in on the conversation. He tuned out of it, studying a few tables visible from the front part of the restaurant; an elderly woman in a blue cardigan and a silvery grey wig was chatting to a younger woman, maybe her daughter. The daughter smiled and listened intently, her head tilted slightly. Under the table, her hands were fidgeting around her phone, her toes tripping just a bit. It looked like a strenuous struggle, keeping the phone down. Perhaps it had a will of it's own. 

At the next table, a couple was sharing a cheese-fondue; a pretty young girl and a handsome man, maybe a few years her senior. The girl was chatting eagerly about something and the man had half his face rested in his hand and a fond glazed-over look in his eyes as he listened. Under the table, their feet touched ever so subtly. 

Louis took his gaze away. 

Studying people was always an entertaining pass-time, particularily for someone who spent long hours working the till at a mediocrely popular Fish'n'Chips shop in a quiet town. But watching two lovers, so engaged in each other, so in love that it didn't even matter what the other one said, it only made Louis want to shoot himself. Made him want to grab a char and slam it into the man's stupid fonding face. Made him want to run over and kick their fondling feet apart. 

Made him want Harry. So much it hurt to breathe. 

A girl laughed, rounding the corner from the back part of the restaurant. Her hair was in a straight bob, bleached almost white, and she'd let her dark roots grow out, just far enough that one would know it was a concious choice, a fashion statement of sorts. She wore a blue jumpsuit with long flailing legs and carried a ginormous canary yellow purse. Apart from how her quirky style ironically made her look identical to most everyone who wanted to stand out in this town, she was notably pretty. A typical English rose with porcelain skin and big blue-ish eyes.

She cast a smile over her shoulder, waiting for her companion to reach up to her. His hand, big and long, rounded the corner before him, handing her a bright-red parka coat. 

"Thanks," she said, smiling at him with such affection that it could only be directed at a loved-one or a child. Considering the fact that she didn't look anyway near old enough to have grown children, Louis assumed it wasn't the latter. "Harry, come on!" she suddenly called out. Louis' stomach jumped. "Harry, don't mind it, the waiter's got it, you don't have to- oh," and she said it again, " _Harry_ , come on - no, look, he's got it, he doesn't need your help." 

She reached a hand back, grabbing her companion's arm and then tugged him right into Louis' view.

Louis' heart jumped into his throat.

He stood there, stiff, unable to move an inch out of his spot, even if he'd had enough sense to realise he should. He couldn't breathe. 

"I was my fault, the least I could to was help him out," Harry muttered, heading right toward Louis. 

"Just 'cause you're a klutz doesn't mean you should steal his chance at earning a great tip away from him," the girl giggled. 

"No, I guess," Harry chuckled.

Louis stood frozen still, pinned to his spot, staring straight at him. 

And then Harry looked up. 

Right into Louis' eyes, punching out whatever little air was left in his chest, Harry looked up. His steps faltered. 

"Harry?" his girl asked, frowning at him in confusion, "come on, we've got to go hurry if we want to get popcorn first. - Harry?" 

Harry's lips pressed together into a thin line. He swallowed, so hard that Louis could make out the strain in the lines from his collarbones to his jaw, even in the dim lights of the restaurant. "Uhm," he croaked out. 

Someone tapped Louis' shoulder. It felt so unexpected, so otherworldly, that Louis jerked violently at the light touch. 

"Our table," Frank said, tapping him again, "Louis, our table is ready." 

"Yes, yes, I- yes," Louis managed to ramble.

But he couldn't bring himself to turn. Couldn't take his eyes off of Harry.

His hair was up, pulled back in a bun, his ivory skin exposed down to his chest, where his dark purple button-down was left half-unbuttoned. He had his coat slung over the arm he didn't have placed around his girl and he had a slight flush in his pale face, like he'd had one too many glasses of wine. His lips, his gorgeous rosy lips, were stained from it; a burgundy line of red wine trailing the insides of them. He was so beautiful it hurt to look. 

But Louis couldn't give himself the relief of looking away. How could anyone ever?

"I-" Harry said, taking one big jerky step forward, almost like falling into it, "Louis-"

His girl frowned again, glanced over at Louis and then back at Harry again, waiting for an explanation.

Harry's gaze didn't so much as flick in her direction. 

He took another step forward and, involuntarily, Louis backed up at it, backed straight into Frank.

"Louis, are you all right?" Frank asked, "mate, our table is ready." 

"Yeah," Louis shook his head, violently, "no, yeah, no, I'm - yeah." 

He finally ripped his eyes off of Harry, pinned them to the floor and then forced them to move along the lines in the wooden floor until he could make his body follow and turn. 

"Hey, wait up," Harry called, now much closer than he'd been before. He didn't touch Louis, but Louis knew, could feel it just from knowing him, that his fingers were inches from impact, "Louis, do you have a minute?" 

"Harry, who is this? Is this-" Harry's girl cut through, still utterly oblivious to the situation. 

And Louis couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand himself, couldn't stand this place or these people, these oblivious _fucking_ people. Couldn't stand knowing that Harry was out, dating again, falling in love again, easy as nothing, with a beautiful girl who was just like him. Quirky. Stylish. Beautiful. 

"Yeah, let's go, then," Louis said to Frank, nodding at the hostess, who'd been waiting for ages.

"This way," she said, waving a hand out toward the back-end of the restaurant, "we've got a nice little corner-booth set up for you." 

They began to walk. Louis couldn't feel his feet lift, couldn't feel the floor beneath him, but he moved somehow, followed Frank and hostess. Followed them away from Harry. 

He made a point of not freezing up when he heard Harry call out his name one last time. He made a point of not showing how affected he was. Of not giving Harry the satisfaction of knowing exactly how much power he had. 

That he had the power to make him feel so small.  


	36. Chapter 36

His fingers were still shaking as he handed the waitress the menu cards back. He hadn’t said a word apart from a low hum in acceptance when Frank had suggested they order the same thing. Louis suspected he’d jumped on it before the waitress even had a chance to ask because he knew Louis wouldn’t be able to speak. Not coherently, anyway.

The waitress went away and Frank and Louis sat in tense silence for a bit. Louis couldn’t even bring himself to care. Couldn’t even manage to look up, let alone forge any kind of small-talk.

Frank broke the ice, warily; “you sure you’re all right, Louis?”

“Yeah, I’m - fine, fine, thanks,” Louis answered robotically, and before Frank could give him the sceptical reply his expression was threatening, added, “you? You all right?”

Frank blinked. “Uhm - eh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” He smiled, folding his napkin together and then unfolded it again, “I’m good,” he repeated, just to keep the silence at bay.

“Good.” Louis’ foot, which was bopping up and down beyond his own control, accidentally kicked at Frank’s. “Oh - sorry.”

“S'all right,” Frank said, with such soothing calmness in his voice that Louis felt a bit like a troubled kid at the school counsellor's office. “Didn’t know if you noticed, but there was a bloke before, calling out for you. You didn’t know him?”

Louis looked up, just to gauge Frank’s expression. Just to see if he was really that clueless. He wasn’t. He was just being nice.

Louis felt pathetic. Shaky and fragile and so small he might as well be invisible. He wished he were, so Frank wouldn’t look at him like that, like he was something to be gently probed at, opened up on careful fingers before fixing.

“I knew him,” Louis said, because he couldn’t handle the pitying smile he’d get if he'd have told a blatant lie, “didn’t want to talk to him.”

“I could see that,” Frank said, folding his napkin up again, straightening the crinkles and fixing the corners in meticulously, only to unravel the whole thing once again, “was he - I hope you don’t mind me asking - an ex-boyfriend of sorts?”

 _Of sorts_. Louis snorted. Out loud, unintentionally.

Frank chuckled. “Of sorts, then.” He paused briefly, then, regrettably, continued on; “he looked quite upset; your ex-something of sorts.”

“I didn’t notice.”

Frank ignored the lie, asking; “I take it that things didn’t end very well between the two of you?”

Louis forced himself to look up again, slightly irritated. “You’re very nosy tonight, Frank.”

He laughed. “Just making conversation.”

“I don’t-”

The waitress arrived with their drinks. Both quieted down as she served them white wine and a few minutes of complimentary banter. She escaped when Frank began to look right on the verge of chatting the life and soul out of her, tapping her watch as a sort of excuse.

Frank turned back to Louis. He looked as though he were about to resume their previous conversation, so Louis jumped to his own rescue, blurting; “so, how come you picked me?”

“Picked you?” he echoed, frowning slightly, “- oh, you mean, for the take-over. Of the shop. Oh, yes, well - well, I believe we already had this conversation, but - well, you’re just the right kind of bloke, I suppose. Remind me of my son, only he didn’t much fancy the idea of owning a Fish’n’Chips shop, too unambitious, he said. He works as a phone-salesman now, doesn’t strike me as very ambitious either, but, well… too each their own, I suppose.”

Louis nodded, hoping he’d continue on about himself for a while.

He didn’t. “Louis,” he said, lowering his voice, “if you’re feeling uneasy, we can reschedule. Really, it’s no issue.”

“I don’t see why - I feel fantastic,” overcompensating, “- I feel _fine_ , I mean. Just dandy,” he added, trying for a bit of sarcasm to lighten the mood, but getting the inflection all wrong. His throat was closing up.

Frank gave a low laugh anyway. “Well, it’s just as well,” he muttered.

“What?”

“That you’re a bit off tonight-”

“I’m not-”

“No, really, I’m happy - I mean, I’m not happy that you’re unwell, of course, but - you see, I needed this night out. My daughter, the young one, Dorothy, she’s been a right bother these last couple of weeks. My wife is losing the plot over her. She needs a vacation. So do I, to be frank.”

“Which you are,” Louis said tonelessly, “ _Frank_.”

He laughed. “That’s a good one. That’s a good one, lad… anyway, I’ve been wondering about you youngsters - what is it that makes you so incapable of understanding your old folks? It seems I tell her exactly the same things that her peers would and yet she disregards my every word and treats theirs as her own personal law. I try to reason with her, but she won’t have it. She’s decided she’s not going off to uni after all, it’s - well, she insists it’s because she's always secretly dreamt of becoming a barista, blimey, but I suspect she just wants to go to Manchester. That’s where her new guy lives, you see. Complete tool, very self-involved. She doesn’t see it that way, of course, but what can you do? Anyway, so I…”

For the rest of dinner, Frank didn’t ask Louis a single question about himself. He continued on about his issues with his wife and daughter and her tool of a boyfriend, as if Louis were a silent shrink. The food was great, according to Frank, but Louis would definitely never have gone for that dish if he’d have had the words to order for himself earlier.

It was just as well. He wouldn’t have been able to get a single bite down, even if he had liked the taste of it. It felt as if he were loaded with bricks, from the pit of his stomach up through his throat, no space for anything else.

He couldn’t stand himself. Couldn’t stand how stupid he was, how stupid he’d been, how stupid one would _have_ to be to have thought that someone like Harry couldn’t trade up for him in a second. He’d stood there, painfully beautiful, with someone new already, someone with whome he did all the same things he’d done with Louis and probably more.

Maybe she was funnier than Louis. Maybe she made Harry laugh so hard he went into cramps from it. Maybe she was a million times more brilliant and smart and kind and beautiful than Louis. Maybe she was none of those things, but better suited for Harry regardless. Maybe she was a free spirit like him, listened to the Beatles on vinyl, danced around her flat in nothing but a pair of tennis socks, and took off to a new city whenever spontaneity struck. Maybe she could offer Harry a life Louis would never be able too. A life he deserved.

But Louis wasn’t big enough to think like that. He couldn’t think about what Harry deserved, he couldn’t be happy that he might be happier with someone else, he couldn’t even manage not to hate her fucking guts for taking the man that was _his_.

Perhaps that was the worst of it, he pondered masochistically, as he trotted home from dinner five hours into the night. That he’d taken one look at Harry in that restaurant, one _sodding_ look, and thought ‘ _mine_. _My_ Harry. That’s mine, not yours, that’s only mine to touch and kiss and scold. Only _mine_.’ The thought of Harry being hers now - the thought of him fucking her and holding her and kissing her like he’d done Louis -  it made him want to kill them both and then himself.

It made him want to rip his bleeding chest out.

“Home,” he muttered, low enough that no one would actually hear, as he locked himself into the flat that night, tired and sick and oh, so _sick and tired_ , “daddy’s home...”

He toed off his shoes, steadying himself against a wall with the palm of his hand to keep his tired legs from giving in. He picked Daisy’s coat off the floor and hung it, then Ernest’s hat and Fizzy’s scarf. He sighed, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he passed it; the makeup had long since now dissolved, his almost see-through skin and the deep dark circles under his eyes staring blankly back at him.

He wished he felt as dead inside as he looked it. Wished to at least feel numb, just a little less open-wounded, just a little less _alive_.

Then he remembered; there was a bottle of whisky in the kitchen. Tabatha bought it as a moving-in present for him and Niall and if Niall hadn’t been there already, which was highly likely, Louis could numb this terrible cutting-sensation in his chest. Just for a moment. Just for tonight.

He made a beeline for the liqour, striding fast across the living-room floors.

He didn’t make it to the kitchen.


	37. Chapter 37

He felt as if someone had just punched him, hard, directly in his solar plexus. His keys had dropped out of his hands, a loud clatter against the floor, and he couldn't even bring himself to care. He couldn't even breathe.

“Louis.”

Louis just stared at him, unable to speak.

Harry was just sitting there, in the middle of his living room, up on a book-shelve with his legs dangling loosely, like he wasn't even aware that his presence was unusual. Like he’d been here for ages.

He was wearing the same clothes as he had been at the restaurant, but he’d freed his locks from the hairband now, all pushed to one side, sticky little curls clinging to the edges of his beautiful face. His lips weren’t rosy anymore, weren’t stained with the hints of red wine. They were dark red, almost purple, torn and frayed like he’d been biting them for hours.

Louis couldn’t stand to look at him. He turned around, dragging a hand over his mouth. “No,” he muttered into it, “no, you can’t do this to me.”

“Louis-”

“ _Please_ ,” his legs were going to give out, he felt so nauseous his vision was blurring with it, “please, just-”

“The other’s are sleeping at Tabatha’s,” Harry said. Louis caught it, somehow, but couldn’t find words to answer. Harry continued, slowly, “I came here looking for you an hour ago. I thought you’d be home by then.”

He came looking for Louis. He came looking for Louis, at his home, just to talk and it wasn’t fucking fair. It wasn’t fucking fair that Harry came here uninvited because he wanted to talk, because he wanted to talk it all out to feel better about himself. It wasn’t fair that he’d neglected to consider the fact that talking might not be as easy for Louis as it was for him. That Louis might not have moved on as easily as he had.

It just wasn’t _fucking_ fair. “What do you want, then, what do you want - you want to talk- you want to talk it out, is that it? Huh, is that it?” he rattled out manically, spinning around to force himself to face Harry. “You want to talk to me now, want to come into my home and make me tell you that you shouldn’t feel guilty over me?” he stopped, just to catch his hitching breath, and pummelled on before Harry could object; “Is that it? So you can go on fucking your fucking whore and feel like a good guy still? Is that what you want from me?”

Harry’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide and confused. “I don't-”

“No, you know what? _Fuck_ you,” Louis spat, “fuck you and your fucking talking. You talk and you talk and you never get to the fucking point because you’re too fucking afraid to offend - well, I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to hear you say some shit to me that you mean right now when I know that you’ll mean exactly the same thing with someone else tomorrow. You’re a fucking arsehole wrapped up in empty apologies and fake fucking politeness and I don’t owe you _shit_. Piss off out of my house. Piss the fuck off.”

He stopped, finally, panting for air.

He felt angry, which was better than hurt, but as his breathing slowed and Harry was still just bloody staring at him, the hurt seeped through his bones again. The need. Need to touch him, just by looking at him, fucking yearning for it. Need to tell him that he’d missed the sound of his voice so much that he replayed old voice-mails in the bathroom just to hear it. That he missed his smell so much he’d cried in the shower after finding out someone had washed his forgotten boxershorts.

But _fuck_ , he didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to talk when all he could think about when he looked at Harry was touching. Grabbing, yanking, biting, _kissing_. Kissing him.

“Piss off,” he repeated, marching off into the kitchen. He found the whisky, completely untouched, thank fuck, and screwed off the lid.

Harry followed him slowly, wordlessly. Louis didn’t turn, just put the bottle to his mouth and began chugging. He kept going, gulping it down until his throat burned, until he couldn’t take anymore and then longer, because he knew Harry was biting his tongue not to tell him to stop. He couldn’t tell him what to do now and it was bloody fantastic. They didn’t owe each other a fucking thing and that was just so _bloody_ _fantastic_.

He slammed the half-drained bottle to the kitchen counter, burped loudly and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. His stomach was churning, warning him not to move too fast or he’d puke, and his throat was on fucking fire and it was so bloody fantastic, all of it. So bloody fantastic, this. How someone could just replace you in a second, because no one really mattered. Nothing fucking mattered, did it?

“Louis,” Harry sighed, “I-”

“You _what_?” Louis spun on his heel. “You’re sorry? Okay, thanks, I know you are, you always are. Now piss off.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You don’t understand? You don’t understand what?” Louis hissed incredulously, “that someone might actually not want to be around you? That someone might actually be just, just, a tad bit confused that you were in love with them one minute and then fucking fine the next? You don’t understand that? Well, you’re fucking thick, then.”

“I’m not,” Harry said lowly, staring at Louis with eyes so big and childish that Louis wanted to punch them. Kiss them.

“You’re not what? Fucking thick?”

“Fine,” Harry said, gaze unyielding, “I’m not fucking fine.”

“No?” Louis said coldly, gliding up onto the kitchen counter and cocking his head back against the cabinets, “your new whore doesn’t suck your cock for fucking hours? Doesn’t let you put it up her arse, does she? Probably makes you wear a condom every time, doesn’t she? God forbid she be a disgusting fucking cum-bucket like me.”

Harry’s gaze snapped up. He looked irked suddenly. “ _Louis_ ,” he said sharply, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m not talking about anything,” Louis said, carefully conceiling how Harry’s raised voice jarred him, “my mouth isn’t made for talking, remember. I’m just a disposable cum-bucket. But you were lucky, I guess,” he laughed dryly, “didn’t even have to pay me after. Maybe I should pay you?” he raised his brows at Harry, “since you were so fucking disgusted with me last. Must’ve been terrible having to stick it in someone so fucking disgusting and used. Must’ve been bloody-”

Harry shut him up by charging across the floor, grabbing his face and slamming his lips against Louis'. His mouth was stiff and closed, pressed hard against Louis’, his fingers digging roughly into Louis’ jaw.

He pulled back after a few seconds, panting into Louis' face.

“You want to fuck me now?” Louis asked, fighting with all he had in him to ignore how intoxicating it was to smell Harry again, have his hands back on his body. “Is that it, you wanna fuck me now?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry exclaimed breathily.,“yes, yes, I-”

“Well, you’d better have money in cash ready, then,” Louis snorted, “and is your girlfriend all right with this? You putting it in some disgusting who-”

Harry slammed his hand into the cabinets right by Louis’ face. It seemed like a near miss. “Would you shut the _fuck_ up with that?” he yelled, so loudly that every cold retorts Louis had ready got stuck in his throat. “Shut the _fuck_ up," Harry repeated, lower, but just as angrily, "I can’t _stand_ you - I can’t _stand_ you talking about yourself like that.”

“Then leave. Go home,” Louis breathed, staring straight up at him. His heart was hammering so hard he couldn’t see anything but Harry, couldn’t make out the surroundings. Or maybe it was the whisky. “Go home to your new whore,” he managed.

Harry buried into his hands, stumbling backwards, then in circles, groaning into them. “What the hell are you even talking about?” he said, his voice sounding almost exhausted. He dragged his hands down his face, then looked up with a disbelieving frown, “what have I- I, I don’t - what do you mean, why would you just assume that about me? I don’t understand.”

“Assume what?”

He threw a hand out, making an exasperated noise. “That I’d be with someone else already. Do you really honestly believe that I’d be able to touch someone else? Kiss someone else when I’m still-” he cut himself off, wiping a hand over his mouth and shaking his head, “I’m not- I wouldn’t do that. I’m… I don’t get it that you assume that I would. That you think I’m like that.”

He almost looked… hurt.

And Louis almost caught himself feeling bad for him.

But it wasn’t fucking fair. It was so fucking ridiculous, really; that Harry still got to play the fucking martyr when _he_ was the one out fucking someone else. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Louis said, voice cold, but calm, “your blonde girl. The one at the restaurant - and don’t tell me you aren’t seeing her because I know that you’ve gone out with her several times. Zayn saw you with her… getting cosy,” Harry frowned at him and Louis continued before he could speak; “But it’s all right, you don’t owe me an explanation, you’re not with me anymore. You left me, remember? On the side of the road. You don’t owe me any explanation as to who you’re fucking, but that also means that I don’t owe you a fucking talk. I don’t owe you _shit_.”

Louis words were in vain, left dangling in the air between them, because Harry didn’t reply, didn't even make a sound. He just stood there, frowning, for several seconds.

Then, finally, he said, so calmly that it was almost unnerving, “that blonde tonight?”

“What do you- yes, yes, her. Unless you’ve been fucking several different blondes, I suppose, which means it could’ve been someone else the other time, but that doesn’t invalidate my point; I don’t owe you shit now.”

Harry just kept staring at him. “That blonde tonight?” he repeated tonelessly.

“Yes, her, for fuck’s sake. All the blonde’s in town, I don’t - what- why are you looking at me like that?”

“Louis,” he closed his eyes for a second, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, then looked up with raised brows, “that was my sister. Both times. That was - that _is_ my sister. Gemma.”

Louis blinked at him. “What?”

“She's my fucking sister, Louis. I called her because i couldn’t- I needed someone there, and we hadn’t seen each other since I left home. Because I, uhm, I left quite abruptly, I guess, so… - but she’s been staying with me.”

Louis still couldn't quite make sense of it. “So what- what, Zayn saw you two-”

“Yes, he probably saw us when I saw her for the first time in a year. When she came in the taxi. We just hugged, for fuck’s sake, Louis,” Harry snorted irritatedly, “and _Zayn_ \- Zayn couldn’t tell ‘getting cosy’ from a loving embrace with a family member if someone punched him in the face with it.”

Slowly, the reality of what he'd just been told began to seep into Louis' flustered brain. “Your sister, then. Your sister...”

“My sister. Gemma.”

“Gemma. Your sister… Gemma.”

Harry shook his head at him, giving a small exasperated laugh. “Jesus, baby.”

No. _No_. “No.”

“What?”

“Don’t - don’t try and- _no_.”

Harry’s brows drew a little closer, a faint crease forming between them. He bit his lip. “I - I'm sorry.”

Louis threw his head back against the cabinet, closing his eyes with a long sigh. “I know you are, Harry,” he said, rubbing at his closed eyes with the heels of his hands, “what the hell are you doing here? You didn’t want to be with someone who couldn't tell you to stay and I still can’t. So if this is - if this is because you saw me tonight and you felt weak, then I get it,” _so_ much, “but nothing’s changed since last we spoke. I can’t change how I think.”

He kept his head rested back, eyes closed, waiting for Harry to sigh and say goodbye. He couldn’t look at him again now. He couldn’t look at him when all the anger had left and nothing had really changed and Harry still looked so terribly beautiful. He couldn’t look at him now and watch him walk away again.

“You can’t change how you think,” Harry said after a while, and it didn’t sound like he’d moved an inch out of his spot, “but _I_ can. About this, I can. It was stupid of me, it was childish. Selfish, really. I spoke to Fizzy when I got here and she really- she knocked some sense into me.”

“She has a way of doing that, hasn’t she?”

“I’ve been a total idiot, Lou. I needed you to tell me to stay because I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t imposing on anything. Because you’ve got this whole life, this perfect, loving, tight-knit family and I’m just basically a stranger with no strings, no nothing, trying to push my way into a closed club. I wanted to know that I wasn’t forcing something you didn’t really want.”

He moved closer. Louis tensed up. 

Harry continued; “It was dumb. Trying to force you to tell me something you couldn't was - I guess, my way of trying to make sure that I wouldn’t get hurt down the road. But I realise now that I was just scared of - you know, because you had this fucking hold on me. I wanted to have some sort of power in it, to feel like it wasn’t all up to you. Because if you - if I’d stayed and you wanted me to go, but didn’t know how to say it or didn’t know it yourself yet, then - then you’d just break my bloody heart,” he sighed, “but that’s not what grown men do. They don’t leave because they’re scared they might get their hearts broken. That’s not very grown-up at all, is it?”

“No,” Louis snorted with a breathy chuckle. Harry was close enough to feel now, even though he wasn’t touching.

“So… I shouldn't have asked you to promise me that you won't break my heart one day, because you can't promise people that. It was stupid of me- what happened that day. It was stupid, I was wrong and - I know you don’t like me saying this, but I’ll say it anyway - I’m sorry,” he paused, just for a second, “so I guess that’s just what I came to tell you. I’m sorry.”

Louis squeezed his eyes further shut and decided to just rip the band-aid; “are you still disgusted with m-”

“No,” Harry cut through, sharply, “I was disgusted with the thought of you with those men, but it came out wrong and I think you heard it the way you wanted to hear it because you thought it already. But I wasn’t disgusted with _you_. I’ve _never_ been disgusted with you. How could I be? I mean-” he made an exasperated noise, “just look at you.”

Louis buried into his hands.

For a while, it was quiet between them. Much too quiet. In Louis’ head it was loud, a foggy mess of incoherent thoughts and the smell of Harry's aftershave, the swig of whisky he’d recklessly downed perhaps at fault.

Or maybe it was just Harry, still standing there, still waiting, waiting for Louis to say something back.

But what could he say? What was there to say? Harry was sorry and he was right in being so, but Louis couldn’t see that there was anything left to say to it. He hadn’t said he wanted Louis back. He hadn’t said that his apology meant that they could go back to what they were before or whether that was even a possibility anymore. He hadn’t said any of that. All he’d said was sorry.

“So,” Louis managed, pinning his gaze to the floor as he pushed off the kitchen-counter. He turned before Harry could try and catch his eyes, grabbed the whisky and screwed the lid back on. “So, that’s- that’s all right, then,” he muttered, more to himself than to Harry. His thumb was drumming at the lid of the whisky-bottle, restless, his other rested on the edge of the kitchen-counter, doing the same. “That’s good, Harry. I think that’s - that’s- thanks. I- I respect that, so…”

He could hear Harry take a step, not backwards, not forwards, maybe just shifting weight in confusion. “So…”

“So... yeah.”

Louis dropped his head, his hand slipping down around the bottle-neck. He pushed it away, determined not to give into the part of him which wanted to down every last drop and forget about himself. He was a parent, for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t this pathethic little wreck. “So, you can- you- I’m not mad at you, I- I get it. I get you. So-” he rambled, “it’s all right.”

“Right.” Louis stayed still, his hand gliding from the whisky-bottle down to the kitchen-counter, creating a faint line of sweat from his palm. “Right,” Harry said again, and this time it sounded like he’d backed up a little. Louis didn't let him see how it made his heart drop from his chest. “Okay, so-”

“So-”

“So this is- should I go or-”

Louis bit his tongue over the ‘no’ that instantly clawed its way up his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘yes’ either, couldn’t get it over his lips. He sighed and pressed his forehead to the cabinet. His head was pounding, his fingers twitching at the counter, screaming for him to reach back while Harry was still close enough to catch.

“I-” it sounded like Harry wiped a palm across his face, then sucking in a sharp breath, “okay. If that’s what you- okay.” A step backwards. Louis’ stomach sank lower. “Okay, can you- do you-” another step backwards. Louis’ fingerteps throbbed, clawed at the smooth surface of the counter for something to grasp. He pressed his forehead harder against the cupboard. “Lou, do- should I just go or-” he took another step, but it didn’t sound like moving backwards this time. Louis couldn’t hear which way it was for the pounding of his own blood in his ears. "Say something, please, Louis, just say _something_." 

"I don't know what to say," Louis replied, because Harry had already said all there was to say, hadn't he? He’d said his peace. He’d given his deep felt apology and it’d been accepted and now he didn’t have to feel guilty anymore. He had his closure and he could go, but he was still bloody here and Louis couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the impermanence of him. He came, he left, he came back, he left again, he came around and then he fucking wavered. He was so bloody unsteady and Louis wasn’t even allowed to feel angry because _he_ was the one who was too fucking insecure to just tell him to stay and stay put. Still was. "I don't know what you want me to tell you." 

It was quiet after that. Suddenly, Louis felt overtaken by this paralyzing fear, this terrible sense of having said the wrong thing and having absolutely no idea how to fix it. So he still didn't speak.

“All right, fuck- fuck this,” Harry hissed on half a voice, then finally moved.

And just like that, he was gone again.

Louis knocked his face into the cupboard. Oh, he hated himself.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs I listened to while writing this and you might want to listen to too: 
> 
> Love is Won - Lia Ices 
> 
> Move Together - James Bay
> 
> Sign of the Times - some random bloke
> 
>  
> 
> CHAPTER WARNING: 
> 
> TALK OF SEXUAL ACTIVITIES WHICH MAY BE INTERPRETED AS "RAPEY" OR OTHERWISE TRIGGERING BY SOME READERS.

He stood there, forehead to the cabinet, staring at the bottle-stain of whisky on the kitchen counter and hated himself. His nails dug into his palms and when it started to sting, he pressed harder. He felt nailed to his spot, bare feet stuck to the linoleum-floors, teeth deep in his trembling lips, as the regret slowly seeped through his bones. He’d pushed away the _one_ person, the only person in too long, who’d made him feel like something more than just a father, just a brother, just a provider and a care-taker. The one person who’d seen him as someone who needed to be held and protected too, once in a while.

As he stood there, wallowing in unwarranted self-pity, he almost didn’t hear the knocking on the door. Almost.

“What?” he hissed, peeling his feet off their spot.

He marched through the flat, preparing to take his self-hatred out on an innocent neighbour asking to borrow a cup of sugar, and by the time he reached the front door, he was so riled up that he forgot to unlink the door-chain. The frail chain nearly snapped as he yanked at the door.

“ _Fucker_ ,” he hissed to himself, slamming it shut and fiddling the key off on jittery fingers. “ _What_?!” he yelled, finally ripping the door open properly.

“I, uhm,” Harry said, standing on the other side of it, “this is awkward, uhm, I left my phone on your dining-room table.”

And just like that, all of Louis’ anger dropped from his over-heated head to his toes and dissolved. His throat went dry.

“Can I- or will you - eh…?” Harry mumbled.

He just stood there, eyes wide and wet, arms slack by his sides, thumbs in his jean-pockets and palms open. He looked like one great big apology for his own existence.

And suddenly, Louis had the right words to say, had them right there in the inward hunch of Harry’s shoulders;

“You should take your shoes off before you come in this time. I just hoovered this morning.”

Louis turned before the cute little frown forming on Harry’s face got to be too much for him. He began to walk back toward the living-room, listening intently to the slow rhythm of Harry's movements; closing the door behind himself. Putting the door-chain back in place. Toeing off his shoes. Hanging his coat. Stumbling over his own big feet as he tried to catch up to Louis without seeming too eager.

His phone was on the dining-table, just like he’d said. There was a new message blinking on the display. Louis couldn’t help but smile to himself as he caught a look of it; **gemma - what did he say??? text me when u can ive had my fingers permanently crossed for the past three hours for you its starting to hurt <3**

Harry’s steps faltered a few feet behind Louis. He didn’t reach for his phone.

Louis didn’t pick it up either. He tapped his fingers to the dining-table, trying to form his next words. He’d come this far. Now what?

“I miss you,” Harry said then, so lowly that Louis almost didn’t catch it.

But he did. He did catch it and he- “miss you too.” He turned, backing himself up against the table and met Harry’s eyes. He hauled himself up to sit on the edge of the table and cleared his throat. He still had to whisper his next words just to get them over his lips, “so much I can’t stand waking up in the mornings, Harry.”

Harry made a guttural noise, like he’d just been punched in the gut. “Yeah,” he breathed, dropping his gaze and wiping the back of his hand over his nose to muffle a sniffle. “Yeah, that’s… that’s shit. Waking up.”

“Without you,” Louis said. The back of his eyes began to sting and he didn't care. “When I know what it’s like to wake up with you.”

Harry’s bit into his lip. “Yeah,” he said on a tiny little voice. His jaw twitched, so hard he was straining it.

“Can’t-” Louis cleared his throat to cover the sound of his voice cracking over, “-can’t sleep either,” he whispered.

“No,” Harry whimpered, shaking his head at the floor, “can’t sleep either.”

Louis cleared his throat again, this time at the hard lump in his throat. He blinked, twice, because Harry was going blurry and Louis suddenly couldn’t stand the thought of not looking at him. “Can’t -” he wiped his nose over a sniffle, “can’t eat.”

“No,” Harry smiled at the ground, shaking his head and sniffling at the same time, “can’t eat at all.”

“Can’t laugh.”

Harry gave hiccup-ish chuckle, “no- no, can’t do that,” he sniffled. Then he looked up, eyes wide and wet and red, and said; “can’t even fuckin’ smile.”

“No,” Louis whispered and forced his wobbling lips to lift into something resembling a smile, “definitely can’t do that.”

Taking a small step forward, Harry touched his finger to Louis’ leg, which was dangling over the edge of the table. Louis’ leg twitched at it, tensed up and kicked out at Harry. Harry snatched his ankle then, lifting it up.

He wrapped his big hands around Louis’ cold foot and kissed the inside of it, right where his skin was sensitive, making Louis gasp involuntarily.

“My feet are dirty,” Louis said shakily, laughing and sniffling at the same time, “they smell.”

Harry didn’t reply, just made a whimper-ish noise and nuzzled his face into the underside of Louis’ foot.

Louis’ arms gave out and he landed on his elbows with a thumpb and a breathy chuckle. “Harry, don’t-”

“What?” Harry looked up at him again. The tears on his cheeks pressed to Louis’ foot, warm against his skin.

“My foot,” Louis managed, “I haven’t - it’s dirty.”

Harry glanced down at the foot he still had pressed to his cheek. “It’s lovely,” he pressed a kiss to the underside of it, “attached to you, innit.”

Louis gave nervous sort of laugh, all too overwhelmed. “I can’t stand this.”

“What?”

“You touching me.”

It could’ve sounded wrong. It could’ve been interpreted the wrong way. It could’ve been taken like a rejection, like an insult or a hint to back off. It could’ve been taken like that if it'd been said to anyone but Harry. But it hadn't for a reason. Harry got it. Got _him_. So much he didn’t even really have to talk.

Which was a good thing right now because his throat was closing in on him.

He closed his eyes, lying back on the table and tried to steady his breath, tried to make his limbs stop shaking just from a touch.

When he opened them again, Harry was pressed between his legs, hips against the table. Hands on Louis's waist. “Hey,” he said softly, thumbs tracing in circles where Louis’ shirt had crept up, “don’t be so selfish.”

“Huh?”

The crook of Harry’s mouth quirked up into a self-deprecating little smile. He nodded at Louis’ outstretched body, pursing his lips. “Hard for me too, you know.”

Louis closed his eyes again. “Oh give it a rest.”

“You’re shaking.”

Yeah. Yeah, it was- it was… yeah. “No.”

He could feel Harry moving and for a second he felt a twinge of fear that he’d back up, but then he made a grunting noise, hauling his big body up onto the table.

Louis opened his eyes.

Harry was on his knees on the small space between Louis’ legs, hands splayed out on Louis’ thighs. There was a terrible little smile on his face. “You’re crying, Lewis.”

Louis wiped an angry hand across his tear-stained cheeks. “Am not.”

“You are,” Harry said, so softly that Louis didn’t even feel like snapping back at him again. “You are…” he gave an exasperated noise, “ _so_ lovely. So, so lovely,” he repeated to himself, sliding his warm hands up from Louis’ thighs to his stomach, the sudden skin to skin so intense that Louis’ muscles jumped under them. “Shh, it’s okay,” Harry spoke, still so softly, “you don’t have to shake, it’s just me.”

“M-hm,” Louis croaked, screwing his eyes shut again. He _was_ a fucking wreck. A shaking little wreck under Harry’s touch. So let him be one.

Harry’s hands slid up until they met the fabric of Louis’ shirt. He stopped for a second. “Do you want me-”

“ _So_ bad.”

He pushed Louis’ shirt up then, helped him out of it and dropped it to the floor. He put his hands back on Louis. “God, you’re such a handsome man.”

Louis gave a shaky snort-laugh, opening his eyes and tightening his jittery legs around Harry. “Yours too,” he said, nodding at Harry’s shirt, “off with it, Henry.”

Harry just smiled, no hint of tease in it, and undid the last few buttons on his shirt before dropping it to the floor as well. His body looked as it had last Louis saw him like this, but having him here again, naked before him, it still made Louis have to close his eyes again. Too much. Too much, too sudden.

Harry lied down on him then, wide and warm and familiar and, oh, it was too much. Too fucking good.

Louis closed his legs and arms around his big body, pressed his face against Harry’s soft one and breathed him in. “You smell nice,” he whispered, raking his fingers into Harry’s long hair and tugging his face even closer, if possible.

“Mhm?”

“Smell like you,” Louis said and pressed a kiss to his ear, then his jaw and his soft tear-sticky cheek. “So, so nice.”

Harry pulled back a little, steading his elbows on either side of Louis’ head and cupped his face. “Do you want to know something evil about me?” he whispered, wiping Louis’ tears off his cheeks by his thumbs.

“Yeah.”

“I think you look cute when you cry.”

Louis kicked his sacrum with his heel.

Harry just smiled down at him, padding at the puffy undersides of Louis’ eyes. “I always think you look cute, though.”

“ _Cute_ ,” Louis snorted. He ran his hands down from Harry’s hair, followed the lines in his strong back, the arch down to his little arse and then left them there, cupping lightly. “Not very fuckable, is it, that. _Cute_...”

“Fuck off, mate,” Harry said, with so much voice and velocity that Louis had to bark a laugh, “you know I think you’re fuckable.”

“ _You_ think I’m fuckable. Other people wouldn’t call cute so-”

“Oi,” Harry grabbed his jaw, turning it so Louis was forced to look up into his eyes again, “other people don’t matter,” he raised his brows, tightening his hand a little, “do they, Lewis?”

Louis grinned up at him, couldn’t help it. “I don’t know, Henry. Do they?”

Harry didn’t return the grin. He just kept his blank stare for a few seconds, then sighed and moved it elsewhere. “That’s up to you, I guess. I know what _I_ want.”

Louis swallowed. “And what’s that?”

“Fuck off, you should know,” he muttered childishly, looking back down at Louis with his eyebrows still raised, “I just want you. And…” He chewed on the side of his mouth and looked away again.

Louis cleared his throat, forcing himself to keep staring straight up at Harry, “- _and_?”

“And I don’t want- look, I don’t want you to be with anyone else either, but I want it to be coming from you. Basically.” He looked back at Louis, “basically.”

“And what makes you worry that I might not want that too?” Louis asked, because he couldn’t help that nagging little voice in the back of his head, that pestering little thing telling him that Harry still wasn’t fully over the stuff with the other men. “You think I liked it.”

“What?”

Louis swallowed down the lump re-forming in his throat. “You think I _liked_ it, don’t you? You think I liked it a little bit, fucking those other men. You think I enjoyed myself.”

Harry's face fell and Louis caught it, just before he schooled his features and found his words. “No, I- I don’t, I- no, I don’t.”

Louis’ eyes narrowed. “Good,” he said, “because I didn’t. I didn’t talk about it because then you’d have stopped me from finishing it before we had the money - which you did anyway, but that’s beside the point - and we _needed_ that money.”

Harry frowned a little, straightening his arms out further to create some more distance. “Talk about it,” he echoed, to himself, “talk about it,” he repeated, this time to Louis, “talk about it to me, then. I can handle it.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t, but talk about it anyway. Come on, you can- talk to me.”

Talk about it. Talk about it now.

Louis shook his head, then pushed at Harry’s chest to get him to sit. He followed, ending halfway in Harry’s lap. “I… I don’t want to think about this again, but maybe I have to,” Louis thought out loud, wringing his hands around, “I suppose I do have to.”

Harry splayed his hand out on Louis’, stilling them. He wrapped his other one around the back of Louis' head, pulling it close enough to press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.”

Yeah. “Okay,” Louis closed his eyes, “okay. You want me to talk about it, I’ll talk about it. But I warned you that you didn’t want to hear about it, so if you walk away afterwards that’ll-”

“I won’t,” Harry caught his eyes, firm and open, “I will not, Louis.”

Louis nodded, even though he wasn't half-convinced that was true. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, ehm - Chuck,” he said, at a loss for any better way to start, “I- and you can’t interrupt me even if you feel you absolutely have to, okay?”

Harry nodded.

“Okay, eh - okay, _Alvin_. I’ll start with Alvin, because I think that’s the one that bugs you the most.” Harry didn’t object. “Alvin is- nice. He’s nice and sweet and I actually - don’t look at me like that, you wanted to know, so I'm letting you know - I actually like him. Just as a person. I like him.” He paused, taking a steadying breath. “With that said, I don’t like him like that. Sexually. He’s old, Harry. And he’s - he reminds me of my dad. He _really_ reminds me of my dad. And - do you know what that does to a person? Having to have sex with someone you feel no attraction to what so ever?”

“No.”

“No,” Louis agreed, “he’s not horrible. He’s… I suppose you could call him vanilla. He’s - he likes sex the way I like it, but- he likes to kiss. He likes to kiss, with tongue, for _so_ long. He likes intimacy, he likes to kiss all over your body and touch you like you’re fragile and beautiful and - hold you close while he fucks you. Hold you really - just really close. And he- he makes you-”

“What?”

Louis bit his lip. “He makes you say things. He likes to talk. During. He likes… he likes to ask you how much you like it, how much you like him, he likes to tell you all these sweet, sweet words all the time. And - when he comes, he-”

“What?”

“He tells you that he loves you. It’s - I don’t think he even notices, I think it’s automatic. But… he tells you that he loves you over and over again. And he wants to cuddle after and kiss you all over and whisper sweet words and I- I know what you’re thinking.”

Harry shook the frowny look off his face. “What am I thinking?”

“You’re thinking; 'what’s bad about all that? That sounds like something that could be enjoyable'.”

Harry’s lips parted, but he didn’t have any words to object, because Louis was right.

“But that’s exactly the point, Harry; it _could_ be enjoyable. But when it’s - when it’s with someone who you just don’t- it’s - it’s so _fucking_ intrusive, you have no idea. It’s like… you feel like vomiting. _All_ the time. _All_ throughout. It makes you dislike all those things, all those lovely, sweet, caring things that you usually like. Because it ruins it, it makes it- makes it disgusting. Makes you feel disgusting.”

Harry nodded, slowly. He didn’t speak for a long while. He didn’t speak until he finally did; “so that’s why it went so wrong last we-”

“Yeah,” Louis dropped his gaze, “yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t just tell you. I thought I could - but… It was too soon after, I suppose.”

“Right,” Harry sat for a bit, silent. “That makes sense,” he finally said, rubbing his hands up and down Louis’ thighs, “that makes perfect sense, actually.”

“Mhm.”

Another while of silence.

“I want to- uhm,” Harry began, “uhm - I want to hug you and not make you talk anymore, but I think that-”

“Yeah,” Louis wiped his waterlines quickly, “yeah. Chuck.”

“Chuck.”

“Chuck.” Chuck. Oh, _Chuck_. “He, ehm - well, he’s nothing like Al. For one, I don’t know him. And…” Louis glanced up at Harry, just to see, just be sure he wasn’t already on the verge of throwing a fit, “and, he, ehm - well, there’s a reason I went straight to Al after him, Harry. I didn’t want to see him again. I _really_ didn’t want to.”

Harry’s hand twitched in Louis’ lap, but he still didn’t speak.

“Right, so, ehm… I don’t know how graphic you want me to be, but-”

“As graphic as need be.”

“Right. Ehm. Christ, ehm- all right,” Louis took another deep breath and then went ahead, “all right, I got up to his room. He opened the door - naked. And he was - he was rough right from, eh - from the get-go. He wanted me to uhm - basically, he was into some fifty shades-shit. I told him I didn’t do that. I think it- think it pissed him off a bit or summat. So he, eh-” he ignored Harry’s sudden gulping sound, forcing himself to continue, “he made me- or, right, I’ll have to be honest, he, eh - he shoved me onto the floor. And went about, eh - basically gagging me on his, eh - cock. It was- it - it wasn’t nice, all right? It wasn’t nice.”

Harry looked on the brink of tearing up again, so Louis looked away because he had to if he wanted to finish what he’d started.

“He- then he- ehm, I eventually had to tell him my jaw couldn’t, ehm- and, I suppose, by then he was already so riled up that he didn’t mind it. Because then he, ehm- he pushed me to-” his voice failed him, suddenly, cracking right over. Harry moved to touch him, but Louis quickly pressed a palm to his chest, keeping him at bay, “- sorry, no, it’s- it’s all right. He pushed-” again, it cracked. “- Oh _fuckin_ ’ hell , this isn’t that bloody hard,” he hissed, pissed with himself, “he pushed me to the floor face-down. And I - well, it was just a bit - a bit sudden, I suppose. So I sort of tried pushing him off so I could - I dunno, just prepare myself a bit, but he wasn’t - wasn’t having it. So he- well, he went on. And finished his business.”

He stopped, waiting for a response.

Harry didn’t give him one. Not for a while anyway. “What do you mean, ‘ _he went on_ ’?” he said finally, voice hard and thin at the same time.

“What I said,” Louis threw a hand out, because Harry knew what he meant, he _had_ to, “he- he - you know. Did his business.”

Harry just stared at him. His eyes were watery again, his brows in a disbelieving frown and his lips parted and stiff. “What the _fuck_ do you mean by that?” he asked, and if he hadn’t known it wasn’t directed at him, Louis would’ve thought he was pissed with him, “what the _fuck_ , Louis?”

“Don’t make me spell it out.”

“Please. Please, spell it out.”

“Fuck you, this isn’t - fuck, _fuck_ you.” Louis wiped aggressively at his eyes and then just shouted it out, fast and hard, like ripping off a band-aid; “he pulled my fuckin’ pants down, spat on his fingers and then proceeded to fuck me like a maniac for fifteen minutes.”

He panted into Harry’s incredulous face.

“There,” he hissed when Harry still hadn't uttered a word, “that’s what you asked for, there you have it, then. That. There. That’s it, that’s what happened. And please, _please_ , stop looking at me like that, you’re makin’ me feel sick. He was rough, okay? It was rough and he wasn’t very nice about it and- and it really fuckin’ hurt. It really fuckin hurt,” he said, “so now I’ve told you. Now you can believe me that I didn’t enjoy myself with those other men if you want or you can decide that I’m lying. But I’ve told you now. That’s there, that’s- that’s what it was for me. With them.”

Neither spoke for several minutes. Or so it felt. If Louis’ heart wasn’t pounding him, if the sound of Harry’s breathing didn't sound like a hurricane, Louis might’ve been able to hear a needle drop in here.

“You were right,” Harry said at some point, voice low and toneless, “If you’d told me that I wouldn’t have let you go near those other men. God, I want to kill him. Fuck- _fuck_ , I want to strangle that cunt with my bare hands.”

“Yeah. Me too, a little bit.”

“That’s - that, what he did to you, that’s-”

Louis’ head snapped up. “- _No_ ,” he said quickly, “no. He did what he paid me to let him do. End of.”

Harry sighed, looking at him with such worry in his eyes that Louis had to close his. “It doesn’t make me want to leave,” Harry said, moving one arm around Louis' waist to pull him fully into his lap and the other up to cup his face and tilt it back a little, “it makes me want to cry and it makes me want to kill that cunt, but it doesn’t make me want to leave. If anything, it makes me want to leave less because I understand you better now.”

He pressed soft little kisses to the crinkles by Louis’ eyes, then one to his cheek and one to the side of his mouth.

“I love you,” Louis said, opening his eyes to look at him, “I love you, okay? That means I want you here. That means you don’t have to worry. I want you here, I don’t want you to leave, not even a little bit. I love you too much for that flaky shit.”

Harry chuckled breathily and then leant in and kissed him, closed-mouthed and gentle. “Love you too. I won’t flake on you if you don’t flake on me. And don’t stop telling me things, even if you think they’re too much. That’s not what grown men do.”

“No,” Louis hummed against his lips, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just trust me that I don’t scare so easily.” Harry flopped their noses together, then pressed another kiss to Louis’ lips, wet and smacking at separation, “I’m a grown man,” he said and grabbed at Louis’ thighs to hitch him closer. “So come on, big boy,” he patted Louis’ bum as he settled into his lap, “invite me too stay the night already.”

Louis pressed a grin into his shoulder.

Harry trailed kisses up the side of his neck.

Louis tilted his head, meeting his lips and let Harry lick into his mouth. Harry’s hand wrapped around the back of his head, tilting it back further to deepen the kiss and Louis let him, revelling in the familiar movements of his tongue, the soft brush of his breathing through his nostrils, the taste of spearmint gum and Harry.

Harry’s hands found their way down the underside of Louis’ thighs, hitching him up, and Louis closed his legs around his waist, letting himself be lifted off the table.

Harry laid him out on the bed and followed him down, unwilling to disconnect their lips, even for a second. He slid his hands up the lengths of Louis’ arms, splaying them out on the mattress and threading their fingers together. Their hips rolled in sync, their moans hummed into the continuous string of kisses.

Harry broke it first, lifting up to smile down at Louis. He dragged a finger down from Louis’ forehead to the slope of his nose and said, “we can just kiss and cuddle all night if you want.”

Louis locked his arms around his neck, forcing him down into the crook of his neck. “Don’t treat me like a baby,” he said, pressing his heels to Harry’s arse to feel him again, hard and thick through his jeans, “I’m a grown man too, remember.”

“ _My_ man,” Harry said, biting at Louis’ shoulder and snapping his hips downwards, “my strong man.”

“Yeah,” Louis breathed, inching his hands inbetween them to unbuckle Harry’s belt, “only yours.”

“ _God_ , I want you.”

“You have me.”

“- _now_.”

“Yes.”

And so, they made love. All through the night. And it was, most certainly, what grown men did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was one of those where you really remember why it is that you love to write, and in particular, write Harry and Louis together. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed and I'm sorry it was looooooooooong and talky-talky-talky. 
> 
> Also, I'm sorry if you were hoping for some hot make up-smut, but I just felt that it fit the story and particular chapter better if I focused it more on the emotional aspects of Harry and Louis finding each other again. I didn't want to make it too physical, since their relationship and their break-up and make-up is so much more than that. I hope the chapter was satisfying to you still :) 
> 
> And, if not, look forward to the next one. There'll be a little something-something ;)


	39. Chapter 39

He woke feeling like he hadn’t slept a single second. His body felt drained, absolutely spent, in the best way possible. There was a stupid little monkey tapping the left side of his brain, reminding him that the sun wasn’t supposed to be this far up, that the room around wasn’t supposed to be this quiet. That he was supposed to keep check on his own stupid little monkeys. 

He grunted, rolling onto his stomach. His legs ached, his arms too, his entire body actually, ached so terribly good. He threw a hand out for his phone to check the time and regretted the second he found it; it wasn’t late morning. It wasn’t even noon. It was bloody-

“Three in the afternoon,” he groaned, “the kids are, they must be-”

“The kids are all right,” Harry said, like a lesbian in some Julianne Moore-movie someone once dragged Louis along to, “I spoke to Niall an hour ago.”

Louis skimmed through his messages, just to make sure no one had died, then flicked the phone off again and dumped his head back in his pillow. His lips felt raw against the fabric, numb almost. Oh, he’d had such a wonderful night. The sort not even your body would allow you to forget, at least not for a week or so.

Harry dragged a finger up his spine, shuffling closer. “Morning, sleepy-head,” he said, pressing a kiss to Louis’ shoulder.

Louis threw a hand out lazily, wrapping it around Harry’s waist to tug him closer. “How long’ve you been up?” he muttered into his pillow.

“Couple hours.”

“Jesus. Why didn’t you wake me?”

Harry nuzzled his nose against the side of Louis’ face until the relented and turned his head into a kiss. “I did,” Harry murmured, pulling back a little, “twice, but you fell right back to sleep the first time and you tried to punch me the second. So I reckoned you needed to sleep to recuperate after last night,” the side of his mouth quirked into a stupid little smile. Louis slapped a hand over it and kissed him again, “I went quite hard on you the third time.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Nah,” he said, shifting onto his side and hooking his leg over Harry’s hip to draw him closer, “nothing compared to the fourth anyway,” he added and cupped Harry’s face, pulling him into another kiss before he could respond.

He probably tasted stale from sleep, and Harry probably did too, and Louis couldn’t care, couldn’t care about much else than the way Harry instantly gave soft little whimper-ish sound when their lips met, how he jerked forward to catch Louis’ tongue, so eager, so hungry. So, so lovely.

Harry roamed his body, fingers tracing his spine, hands grabbing his arse, pulling him closer.

When he made a move to roll onto Louis, Louis pushed forward, tipping him onto his back instead, and straddled him. Harry gave a low moan as their cocks pressed together and Louis cupped his face, pulling out of the kiss just to look at it. His cheeks had a blotchy red flush, his eyes wide and open, so childish and sweet that Louis had to kiss the crinkles by their sides.

Harry gave a happy hum, locking his arms around Louis’ waist and pulling him close as could be. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Louis whispered, so fast his words almost overlapped Harry’s. “Love having you here,” he said, touching his fingertips to Harry’s twitching throat, his collarbones and- fabric. Fucking fabric. “What on earth…”

Harry barked a laugh as Louis pulled back, sitting up on him to examine what the hell he was wearing. He wasn’t supposed to be wearing _anything_ , was the thing. He’d been naked when Louis fell asleep in his arms at four in the morning and he was supposed to be naked still.

But he wasn’t. Not waist-up anyway. He was wearing-

“Is this mine?”

Harry laughed again, throwing his hands above his head and waggling his brows. “Look good in it, don’t I?”

Louis gave the shirt a skeptic glance. The poor little t-shirt, which he’d forced over his head, stretching the fabric almost beyond it’s might, wasn’t just any old t-shirt. Wasn’t any t-shirt Louis had worn since he was fifteen. He’d almost forgotten he owned it. The gay pink t-shirt. The one he’d worn to his first and only gay-clubbing experience. The one he’d sworn never to see on anyone again, except maybe for Doris when she grew a little older and needed something ugly to sleep in.

“This _is_ mine,” Louis said, failing to repress a fond chuckle. He trailed a finger down the tight creases in the t-shirt, felt where the thin fabric didn’t leave much of Harry’s strong torso to the imagination. The gay pink t-shirt. It matched Harry’s lips. And his personality. “Did you go through my stuff, twat?”

“Yes, twat,” Harry grinned, then tried to grab Louis to pull him down again. Louis wrestled his arms to the mattress, laughing, and Harry elaborated on a breathy chuckle, “had to.”

“You had to?”

“M-hm,” Harry nodded, pink lips pressed together in an impish little smile, “didn’t know how to work the remote. Didn’t know how to wake the bloke snoring next to me. I gathered- might as well go through his drawers, then.”

“Might as well?” Louis grinned, still straining to keep Harry’s wrists pinned.

“Might as well, yeah,” Harry laughed, fighting to get his arms free, “make sure you weren’t hiding something you weren’t supposed to.”

Louis rolled his eyes. This idiot. “And was I?”

Harry quirked a brow, glancing down at the shirt and up again, “should say so.”

Louis barked a laugh, loud and screechy, couldn’t help it. He freed Harry’s arms, dumping down on the gay pink t-shirt and his warm chest. Harry’s arms wrapped around him in a second, one hand sneaking down to give his arse a little clap. “I look sexy in it,” he said, almost self-righteously, “you find me so bloody sexy in this, I can see it on you, you fuckin' fraud.”

Well- “can you even breathe?”

“Does it even matter?”

Louis found his lips again.

They snogged for a long while. They snogged, licked, bit, rubbed and touched until Louis couldn’t handle another second of not having Harry inside him.

He lifted forward a little, guiding Harry’s wet cock-head to his rim. He winced, just a little, just at the touch. He didn’t need any fingers, didn’t need any prep, but that wasn't to stay he wasn't sore as all hell still. Wanted it still.

Harry dragged a finger up his spine. “Slow,” he said, throwing a hand out for the lube they’d chucked somewhere last night, “slow this time, babe.”

“Mhm.”

He wrapped one hand around the back of Louis’ head, pulling his forehead close against his own, and reached the other one down to guide his cock into him. Slowly, he pressed his hips up a little.

Louis gave an involuntary loud wince at the breach of his muscle.

Harry steadied his hand around his bicep, sliding his other one up to his sacrum, massaging gently. “Look at me,” he said softly, “come, look at me, darling.”

He met Harry’s eyes, open and caring, watching Louis intently as he gently circled his hips upwards to get in him.

Louis winced again.

Harry tightened his hand around his bicep. “You good?”

“Yeah, I - _ah_ \- love this part,” Louis breathed, reveling in the intense feeling of stretching around Harry’s big cock, the persistent ache of it, so terribly good, “love when you first get in. When I -   _ungh_ \- remember how big you are, like I’ve forgotten it a little every time. You’re so- _god,_ babe, you’re so big it always hurts just a bit.”

Harry gave a stuttering moan, like he’d been fighting to keep it in. “ _Fuck_ , you feel - s’hurt?”

“Yeah,” Louis panted, lifting a little and then pushing back on him, “so good.”

Harry attacked his neck then, sucking at the sensitive skin of it, long enough to create a lasting mark. Louis arched into him, splaying his torso out on Harry’s to let him lift is knees and fuck up into him.

Harry thew his head back on a shamelessly loud moan, snapping his hips upwards, his eyes fluttering shut, nostrils flaring and lips going deep dark red. Wet.

Louis licked them, nibbled on the bottom one, felt Harry’s breath against his own lips as he grunted and groaned, thrusting as good as he could. It looked a strenuous struggle, wanting to fuck Louis so bad, but being so utterly exhausted he couldn’t hardly manage to lift his hips.

Louis closed his hands around Harry’s face, sweat-sticky and soft still, smoothing a few stray curls back and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Tired?”

“Mhm, _ungh_ , yeah,” Harry panted, then tried to disprove his point by grabbing Louis’ arse and slamming himself upwards.

“- _Ah_!”

“You good?” Harry opened his eyes, pupils shot and waterlines damp from exhaustion, “baby?”

“Good, good, I’m, _ungh_ , m’good,” Louis managed, dropping his forehead to Harry’s and pushing back as he rolled his hips in circles, deep and thick inside him, “you’re so good, baby. So good, keep going, you’re doing so good.”

The words seemed to set something off in Harry, because he bit into his lip, his brows furrowing almost frustratedly, and pressed Louis’ arse down harder on himself, lifting his hips off the mattress completely to get as deep in him as possible. He fucked himself in on tiny pull-outs, staying just deep enough that Louis’ legs began to tremble, his cock growing so hard it hurt.

“Oh god, oh _christ_ ,” Louis groaned, hands fisting white around in fabric of the gay pink t-shirt which had crawled up to Harry’s armpits by now, drenched in sweat, “ah _fuck_ , you’re so good, fuck, I love you.”

Harry gave an exhausted little groan of a chuckle, snapping his hips hard to make Louis’ jaw drop with a deep-throated “ah- _ungh_ ”.

“Gonna - _ungh_ \- babe, m’gonna take you from behind,” Harry panted, giving Louis’ arse-cheeks a last rough squeeze before pulling out of him and flipping him over onto his stomach.

Louis didn’t move, didn’t have it in him to do much else than arch his back as Harry grabbed the insides of his thighs and spread them apart. He splayed himself out on Louis before pushing in, pressing a sloppy wet kiss to the nape of his neck. He slid his hand up the back of his thigh, cupping his arse-cheek and giving it a little smack. “God, I’ve missed this arse,” he drawled, “fuck, you haven’t been giving it to-”

“ _Fuck_ no.”

Harry surged down, wet lips colliding with the spot between Louis’ shoulder blades. “ _Fuck_ no,” he echoed, voice low and rusty, stained with lust, “fuck no, you haven’t,” he said, giving Louis another little spank.

Louis opened his mouth to say something, anything, ask him what the hell he was doing maybe, but then Harry’s tongue dipped down at the middle of his spine, giving a fat kittenish lick. “ _Oh_ , what are you-”

Harry pressed a soft kiss to his tailbone, “can I-”

He didn’t give Louis a chance to reply before dipped down again, pressing a kiss to his left arse-cheek. Louis shuddered at the touch, too close to where he was the most sensitive, too good all the same. His back arched involuntarily and maybe Harry took that as a silent yes, and maybe it was, because when he slid his strong hands up Louis’ thighs and onto his arse to spread him, Louis didn’t have it in him to say no. He hadn’t had this very often; had done it more times for other people than he’d let them to do it for him. It’d always seemed to him just a little too... intrusive.

But when Harry placed his tongue where he was sore and wet and stretched already, it didn’t feel intrusive. Not when his hands, the hands Louis _knew_ , held him open so gently, his thumbs tracing circles on the insides of Louis’ cheeks. It wasn’t intrusive. At least not in any negative sense of the word.

Louis buried his face in the pillow, muffling groans, as Harry put his tongue to work. He’d done this before, he had to have, and there was something so inherently sexy about how he did it. How he didn’t even blink at thought, so completely uninhibited, so utterly consumed by arousal; how he fucked his tongue into Louis like the only thing that mattered to him right then was how hot it was to make him feel good.

“Don’t come,” he rasped, when Louis began to hump the mattress, so hard and wet he couldn’t stifle himself. The pillow was wet where his mouth laid open, the sheets ripped halfway off the bed from how hard he’d been fisting them, his arms and body jerking around in pleasure. “Don’t come yet, baby,” Harry said, settling a hand down on Louis’ sacrum to still his hips. He pressed a kiss to Louis’ rim, bit at one of his cheeks and then grabbed the mattress to pull himself upwards. “Don’t come yet, I want to-”

He licked a fat wet stripe up the length of Louis' spine and it was all Louis could do not to rub himself into the mattress and release himself in the sheets right then.

“Talk to me,” Harry breathed, voice low and husky, and pressed a kiss to the top bone in Louis’ spine, “wanna hear your voice.”

“I-” Louis managed, swallowing hard to get his voice back. God, he was so fucked. “You’re so good at that, Harry. So good, babe, jesus- _ah-_ ” he exclaimed as Harry pushed the tip of his cock into him. He was so hard, so fucking wet, that Louis was inclined to think he might be straining every muscle in his body not to come too. “You like that, don’t you? Eating - _ah_ , ow- eating someone out?”

Harry pushed a groan into his shoulder, pressing a finger down on his cock guide it in further. “Eating _you_ out,” he said, spreading Louis by both hands and sinking in as deep as possible, dragging moans from both their throats. “I- _ungh_ \- love the noises you make. You're so fuckin’ filthy, Lou.”

Louis twisted his head back, trying to reach Harry’s lips with his own. Harry licked sloppily into his mouth from the side.

“Come- _ah_ -” Louis threw a hand back, slapping at Harry’s body. “Lie down on me, come on, lie - want to have you on me.”

Harry gave a loud groan at that, almost feral-sounding, and pulled out to the tip before shoving his fat cock deep again and blanketing Louis’ spine with his big heavy body. He held onto Louis’ head by one hand and snaked the other around his shoulders, and fucked him deep, eagerly, so much so that Louis’ hips lifted off the mattress, his arse pushed up against Harry’s pelvis.

“Fuck,” he hissed, slapping Harry’s hand off his cock when he tried to touch him, “fuck, I’ll come, babe.”

It didn’t seem like Harry heard him at first, his hips snapping furiously, moans getting louder, a continuous string of boyish little ‘ _ah_ ’s with each thrust.

“Wait, no, I-” he suddenly blurted, “I wanna - wanna look at you.”

He pulled out, a little too fast, but Louis didn’t have it in him to complain when Harry flipped him right over onto his back, grabbed him under the knees to fold him up and pushed into him again.

His lips looked swollen, sore almost, red and wet, and there was a string of spit clinging to his chin. He was glazed in sweat, hair sticking to his face and the gay pink t-shirt absolutely drenched, every line in his torso showing through the soaked fabric.

He threw a hand through his long hair, pushing it back and then surged down to press his spit-slick mouth to Louis’.

“Deep, keep - oh yes, like that, deep,” Louis panted deliriously, smoothing Harry’s hair back from his flushed face to watch the strain in his face, the veins at his temples popping, and the way his eyebrows arched almost angrily, “fuck me, baby, you’re so good, come on, keep going.”

Harry pressed his face into the crook of Louis’ neck, his entire body moving with his thrusts, each one so hard and vehement that Louis had to fist the back of his t-shirt just to have something to hold onto to.

He came without a touch, a loud, much too-high pitched noise falling from his lips as he spurted up their torsos.

Harry didn’t slow down, not even for a second, and Louis had to yank his hair to force his head back and watch him as he chased his own release. “Come on, babe, come in me,” he spurred Harry on, voice utterly wrecked, “come on, baby, you’re so - ungh, _ah_ \- so good babe, come in me.”

Harry’s face scrunched up, nostrils flaring, lips falling slack and eyes screwing shut as he came, moans so loud he was almost yelling.

Louis locked his arms around him, pulling him close as he rode out his orgasm. “So good, baby, you’re so good, you were so - you're so good.”

“Love you,” Harry breathed, plastering wet kisses around Louis’ neck as his hips rolled in circles, his cock still throbbing in Louis, pulsing hot into him for what felt like minutes. “Love it when you take me, _ah_ , take me so well.”

“Jesus, I can still feel you,” Louis whispered, fingertips trailing up and down the trembling over-worked muscles in Harry’s back, “god, you always come so much.”

Harry gave a last little hump, grunting with it, before he deflated completely atop of Louis, so heavy he couldn’t hardly breathe. It didn’t matter. Cut off his air-supply, suffocate him completely, he didn’t care as long as he got to keep Harry close like this.

They lied for a long while, panting in unison, hearts galloping against each-other’s chests.

At some point Harry managed to lift his head a little to look down at Louis, a soft hazy smile on his fucked-out face. He leant down to press a kiss to Louis’ lips, then cupped his face, smoothing his hair back from it. “Thank you. You're incredible.”

He moved a little, so Louis locked his legs around his waist, keeping him put. “Stay,” he blurted, much more desperate than anything he'd ever own up to outside of bed, “can you - stay in me. Just- stay in me for a bit.”

“Wasn’t going to pull out,” Harry chuckled breathily, eyes roaming Louis’ body. They rolled up to his face again, with such earnest openness that Louis had no choice but to make the terrible effort of lifting his head to catch his lips again.

Harry hummed happily into the kiss, resting his cheek down on Louis’ shoulder and snogged him lazily, fingers scratching softly at the back of his hair. Louis ran his hands down his sweaty back, down to his hips which were still rolling forward slightly, just to remind himself how they were still intertwined in the closest way possible.

Louis cupped his little arse, kneading it lazily as the tips of their tongues brushed softly, their lips pursing into smacking little kisses, no real intent, no real need for it.

Eventually, Harry pulled back and pressed a last closed-mouthed kiss to Louis’ mouth, then one to his noise and another to his forehead. He slid his hand down from Louis’ hair to his arm, finding his hand in the sheets and threading their fingers together. “Hey,” he said, with whatever little voice he had left, and nudged his nose at Louis’ cheek, “that was - you were amazing.”

“You too,” Louis hummed, nuzzling into his face, “Harry, can - can we just stay here until - until we absolutely _have_ to take a piss or something?”

Harry gave a weak-voiced little chuckle. “Yeah,” he said, flopping their noses together before nuzzling in again, resting his mouth against the side of Louis’, “I’m never letting you go again. Nail you to the bed if I have to, I don’t give a fuck.”

Louis laughed. Harry did too.

But, it wasn’t really funny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's your little something-something ;) 
> 
> hope i did all right


	40. Chapter 40

_"It doesn't matter what story we're telling, we're telling the story of family."_

_\- Erica Lorraine Scheidt_

 

 

“Bitch!” Louis exclaimed as Harry snatched the last onion-ring out of the take-out box and ate it without a shred of remorse, staring Louis right in the eyes, a wide shit-eating grin on his face. “Have you no shame?”

“Fuck, that’s the best onion-ring I’ve ever tasted in my entire life.”

“You don’t love me.”

“Louis, man, I’m telling you, it’s like an explosion of flavor in my mouth - shit, I think that’s the best bloody onion-ring ever made by man.”

Louis punched him in the shoulder, then moved to get up and get something to drink, but Harry was quick to throw an arm around him and pull him back in.

“Noo, don’t be bitter with me, little grape,” he said, rubbing his knuckle on Louis’ head, “I’m only teasing.”

Louis wrestled out of his arms, giving him another weak slap. “Shut up.”

“Oi,” Harry muttered, pushing his big face into Louis’, “you can have the onion-ring if you want. Just take it - here, take it out of my mouth.”

Louis shoved his head away, laughing, “you are _so_ disgusting.”

Harry shrugged a shoulder, swallowing down the best onion-ring ever made by man, and grinned, “what, birds do it all the time.”

“What?”

“Get food and feed their babies out of their mouths.”

“I’m not a bird,” Louis pointed out, flicking a crumb of fried bread off the side of Harry’s mouth, before realizing that he’d just set himself up for a horrible retort, “- _don’t_ say it,” he hissed, “don’t fuckin’ say it.”

Harry smiled widely. “Hey, I’m not saying anything, boo.”

“Boo,” Louis snorted, “we’ve got to make a list soon or we’re steering ourselves right into another break-up.”

“What, a list of terms of endearment to never use?”

Louis opened his mouth to say yes, but then decided to leave it, considering the fact that that list would only end up as ‘The list of terms of endearment to _always_ use’.

“Hey,” Harry said, ruffling Louis’ hair and pulling him in for a peck, “I’m sorry I tried to feed you like a bird. If you’re not a bird, I’m not a-”

“Don’t, Harry, I’m serious, I will-”

“Bird,” Harry finished, looking much too satisfied with himself, “if you’re not a bird, I’m not a bird.”

Louis pushed him off and scrambled to get out of bed. “I’m getting a coke. Want?”

“Hm. Thanks, darling.”

“I’m not your darling.”

“What, ‘darling’s off the table now too? You’re not leaving me much to work with here, mate.”

Louis sighed, throwing a tired grin over his shoulder. “‘Darling’s fine, but I’m not your darling anymore because you just quoted The Notebook at me and that’s a deal-breaker. We’re done. It’s over.”

“Fuck off,” Harry laughed, kicking out at him, “go get me my fuckin’ coke, then. Oh, and could you also make me a sandwich while you’re at it, beautiful?”

Louis flipped him off over the shoulder.

He made his way toward the kitchen, but was stopped half-way by the sound of a loud vibration against the floor. He looked to the dining-table where Harry’s phone still lied, in exactly the same spot as it had three days ago. It was funny, he thought; how people were so vehement in the belief that phones were the number one killer of close social relationships and yet that little vibrating piece of plastic had saved Louis’ relationship.

Well, given it a push in the right direction anyway.

“Harry, someone keeps messaging you,” he called out, but he didn’t think Harry heard him over the telly.

There were twelve unread messages on the phone, all from the same sender.

Now, Louis wasn’t a snooper, but - well, he was but only human. So he read every single one of them.

**gemma - haz ?**

**gemma - harry**

**gemma - im just going to assume this lack of response means it went well**

**gemma - say hi to him from me**

**gemma - theres an offensive lackage of proper food in your fridge**

**gemma - fuck you your tv stopped working**

**gemma- harry i clogged your shower drain but it was already full of your hair so it wasnt my fault**

**gemma - all right im officially bored. ive cleaned ur entire flat and bought groceries. txt me when u can**

**gemma - T wants me to ome home but i told i cant leave til i know how it went u and ur boy**

**gemma - T came to surprise me. we fcked in ur bed sorry not sorry**

**gemma - T and i went to visit some friends next town over. will come back and see u when u have time love**

**gemma - mum called and asked how you were. she misses u haz**

Louis chewed on the insides of his cheeks, his gaze stuck on the last text. “Harry?” he called out again.

No response.

“Darling,” he said, walking back to him.

Harry was sprawled out on his back, naked and covered in take-out boxes. He was keeping one of them right under his chin, hauling soy sauce up and sucking it off his finger while watching the telly on half-lidded eyes. A sight for sore eyes.

“Yeah  - hey, where’s my co- hey, is that my phone?”

Louis glanced down at the phone he’d picked off the table and brought back, unsure of what to do or say next. Maybe just ask. “Yeah, it’s - eh,” he tossed the phone over to Harry so as not to seem so threatening, like a jealous girlfriend who’d just gone through her boyfriend’s DM’s. That wasn’t what this was. “Ehm… your sister’s been trying to reach you.”

“Oh. Right.”

Harry licked a bit of sauce off the side of his mouth and pushed the take-out boxes off of himself to pick the phone up and skim through the messages. Louis pinpointed the moment his gaze reached the last one, the way his face fell, just a little, the slight bit of something serious flashing over his expression.

He typed out a quick text, then flicked the phone off and put his smile back on, reaching his arms out for Louis. “Come here.”

“Didn’t you want me to get the, eh - the coke?”

Harry waggled his fingers at him. “No, just come here for a sec.”

Louis shifted weight, uncertain. “Ehm - I read through your texts.”

“Little fuckin’ hypocrite,” Harry grinned.

“Your sister said that your mum misses you,” Louis continued warily, “ehm, and - you never told me about your family. You’ve never - christ, I just realised that you’ve never even mentioned them. And what’s worse, what’s actually really bloody horrible, is that I’ve never even bothered to ask.”

Slowly, Harry’s smile weakened at the corners, went softer, “yeah. Come on, come here, babe.”

Louis relented then, crawling into Harry’s arms and burying his nose in his warm neck.

Harry muted the telly and ran his fingers through Louis’ hair. “You want to know about me, then?”

“Yeah.” Wanted to know everything there was to know and more, really. “Yeah, what’s - what’s with you and your family? What’s going on there?”

Harry gave a long sigh. “It’s a long story.”

“I don’t mind.”

Harry tugged gently at Louis’ hair to tilt his head back and press a little kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Louis said, reaching up to cup the side of Harry’s face and trace his cheekbone with his thumb, “so tell me your story, babe. I want it. Long or short or fucking endless, I want it.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah. Might fall asleep halfway through, but you know.”

Harry barked a laugh. Louis’ face fell back in his neck.

“Okay,” he said after a bit, “you know I’m not from here, right? I don’t - I’ve never lived here, in this town, before.”

No. He’d gathered that. Hadn’t thought much about it, which was his cross to bear, but he’d gathered as much. Harry didn’t seem to have any family here, didn’t really seem to have - well, have anyone at all here. No strings, no steady job, no school-friends, no nothing. Perhaps that’d been part of what’d made it so easy for Louis to let him in, much faster than he would’ve done anyone else. That he’d seemed like this mystical creature, bringing nothing but his lovely self to the table, bringing no excess weight into Louis’ life. But that was Louis’ cross to bear. He’d been selfish.

He didn’t want to be anymore, because real love wasnt, even if it wanted to be sometimes. “I know,” he said, “where do you come from?”

“Narnia.”

Louis pinched him. “Don’t deflect.”

“No, I, yeah, I - I grew up in Holmes Chapel,” he said, and when Louis didn’t seem to react; “in Cheshire.”

“Oh - well, that’s only ‘bout an hour's drive from Nottingham.”

“Yeah, and - yeah, I suppose that’s why I came here. Minivan couldn’t take me any further.”

“Right. Well, I didn’t grow up here either,” Louis said, as if to serve as some sort of consolation, “I mean, I was born in Donny. Doncaster. Grew up there.”

“Yeah, but - but you didn’t run away from home. You didn’t - you didn’t leave home because you wanted to get away from people.”

Louis chewed on his lip, considering. “I don’t know, I - I’d just turned eighteen at the time and I - we were all living with my dad at the time. But he was - you know, he wasn’t capable of being a parent, really. He drank a lot. He’d disappear a lot. So one time, when I’d just turned eighteen, he went off on another one of his benders. He’d been gone for, like, three weeks, I think. And I just thought - _no_. No, I can’t have the kids sit around here and worry, waiting for him to come back whenever he sees fit to leave. So I packed them up and left. Got granted full custody soon after.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask something more, but it wasn’t his turn, this wasn’t about Louis. This was about him. “So why’d you leave Holmes Chapel?”

Harry sighed. “Right. Right, well, I - well, it’s a long story.”

“You’ve said that.”

“Yeah,” he fiddled with Louis’ finge, chewing on the side of his mouth, “I… my mum and dad split when I was quite young. My dad remarried and moved across the country. I only heard from him around Christmases and stuff. So I really only had my mum. And Gemma, of course. But she’s a bit older than me and, uhm, then she met Terrence - and he’s about the best bloke you’ll ever meet, so this isn’t, it’s - but Terrence studied up in Manchester and Gemma went with him.”

“Right. And you stayed back with your mum?”

“Yeah. Yeah, well - my mum had remarried too. And I never really got along with her new bloke. He was - he’s quite set in his ways, I guess you could call it. If you don’t like his rules and ways, he wont - he won’t really have it. And so when Gem left, things got more intense, I guess. ‘Cause her and I had always sort of stuck together.”

“So it was just the three of you?” Having so much family that you never got a moment’s peace was hard, Louis knew better than anyone. But having so little of it that you couldn’t ever get a moment of noise and mess and the relaxing safeness that came with being part of a big team, he didn’t know. It had to be- “rough. That’s got to be rough.”  

“Yeah - well, no, we, uhm - we weren’t just three. My stepdad had a son around my age. He was nice enough, but - we never really got that close. He was quite… I don’t know, I think he was affected by how much pressure his dad put on him. So he - he enjoyed it, I think. When my stepdad would, uhm - favour him over me. Put me down and compare us and stuff.”

“But what about your mum? I mean, wouldn’t she have said anything or - she must of-”

Something soft and sad at the same time fell over Harry’s face. “My mum isn’t - she’s really sweet. I love her, she’s - she’s lovely. But she’s not - she reminds me a bit of Tabatha in that sense, she can’t really - she won’t ever talk back to anyone. She won’t - she’d rather keep the peace than stand up for me, even if she think’s I’m being treated unfairly.”

“Right. Rough.”

“Yeah,” he gave a dry little chuckle, “and she - she’s a bit old-fashioned in that sense, I guess. The man of the household gets the final word. I think that’s another reason that I really didn’t like him; it seemed the longer mum was with him, the more her own personality got sort of.. I dunno…”  

“Oppressed?”

“Yeah. Yeah, oppressed, I guess. She - she wouldn’t speak unless spoken to. She wouldn’t ever stand up for herself, let alone me. She’d let him step all over her and just sort of giggle at it, she - she turned into this scared little mouse.”

“Was he violent with her?”

“No - no, god no. No. He was just - he’s just - he likes his own way, like I said. He likes to be the ‘head of the household’. I don’t think he’s all bad, I mean, he made her happy sometimes, when it was just the two of them, I think. They did love each other a lot, anyone could see that. But - I think that their personalities just sort of… because he was naturally very domineering and she’s always been more of a… a soft kind of person, it - they brought the extremes out in each other. And - he _could_ tell her what to do. He could, so he did. I think he sort of - sort of thrived off in a way. Having all of the power.”

There was a taught line between Harry’s brows. Even if he didn’t like to say it, he was angry. He was really, really angry.

Louis flattened a palm out on his forehead. “It’s okay for you to hate him. Even if he does make your mum happy in his own way, it’s still okay to hate him. I hate people who say you shouldn’t hate anyone. _Fuck_ yes you should, that’s a human right. Allow yourself to hate him. Anything else just makes you bitter.”

Harry sighed out through his nostrils, forcing a little smile. “Yeah, I - I do, I - I _did_ hate him. Sometimes. I did. Hate his fucking guts.” 

Louis smiled, pressing a soft kiss to Harry’s temple. “So what happened, then? To make you leave?”

“Well - it’s a long sto- no, I’ve said that already. It’s, it’s - my step brother and I began taking our driver’s licenses around the same time. And my stepdad was so proud - of him, not me, of course - and he promised to get him a brand new car once he passed the test. And, I was there too, so I guess he felt a little bit of sympathy with me - at least that’s what I thought at the time. So - so he had this rusty old minivan standing in his garage. He never drove it, never even touched it. He told me I could have it once I passed my test.”

“Oh. So that’s how you got that-”

“Yeah, well - well, not quite, uhm - so we both - my step brother and I - we both passed our tests. And like he’d promised, my step dad got him his a brand new car. And I’d spent-” he stopped, abruptly, like he had to take a breath just to steady his temper, “- I’d spent _all_ summer making that fucking trash-van work again. Fixing the engine and everything because I was so _fucking_ elated to have anything, just any piece of trash to drive away in when things got too much at home.”

“And then?” 

“And then - once I’d passed my test, I went out the following day to take the van for its first drive,” he took another steadying breath, “and I found my step dad out there, with some bloke. My step dad - _fuck_ , I remember this so vividly - he looked up at me and smiled, he just smiled, like nothing was wrong and-”

“What, baby?”

“He said to me ‘nice job you’ve done with the van, Harry. Engine’s good as new. I’ve just sold it off to Michael here. Great job. Pays almost half the loan I took on Jimmy’s new car. Nice work, lad.’” 

Louis blinked, trying to process the information. “Wait, what?” he sat up half-way, pushing off on Harry’s chest, “wait, so you’d fixed that car for yourself because he told you you could have it and then he just went and sold it without even asking you?”

Harry’s eyes rolled upwards, his jaw straining hard in frustration. “Yes,” he gritted out, “that’s exactly what he did. Told me that it’d been his car from the beginning and he’d never actually thought I’d be able to make the engine work again. So when I did, it was only natural that he’d sell it and get his money’s worth. It was his, always had been, he said. It was only natural. And my mum - my mum just stood there, biting her nails. Didn’t say a thing.”

“What the fuck.”

“Yeah,” Harry hissed out, “yeah, I - Louis, I’m so happy you never saw then. I - I’ve never been that livid in my life. It was like - like something snapped inside of me, I-”

“What did you do?” 

“My stepdad told me that the buyer was coming to pick the van up the following day. So, in the night, I trashed his entire office and smashed his car in. My step brother’s too. Fuck, I think the only things i didn’t smash up in that garage was my mum’s car and the minivan. I went completely insane,” he said, “and then - then I threw all my stuff in a bag, stole the keys to the minivan and drove off. And I never looked back.”

“Wow,” Louis said slowly, slightly unsure of how to react. The anger in Harry, the _bitterness_ , it still seemed so raw that Louis felt it too. Or maybe that was just because it was justified. Absolutely fucking justified. “Good on you.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, kicking at a take-out box, “worst part is that I know, I fucking _know_ , he didn’t need the money. He just couldn’t let me have it. He just had to show off, to mum or me or himself, maybe, I dunno. Powersick _fuck_.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I - no, yeah,” Louis rambled, “ehm, yeah. Jesus Christ, Harry, that’s - fuck, I get why you left.”

Harry managed a little smile. “And then I met you.” 

“And then you met me,” Louis echoed, “and then you made me suck you off in a bathroom-stall for a spliff.”

Harry’s face broke into an embarrassed grin. He buried into his hands, groaning. “Don’t remind me, _jesus_ , I’d almost forgotten about that.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” Louis peeled Harry’s hands off his face and kissed it, settling down on him again, “I sort of liked it.”

“What, turning tricks for a spliff?” 

“Sucking you off, you big great idiot,” Louis said, even though he knew Harry knew what he meant already.

Harry’s chest shook softly, calming down as his laughter faded. He flattened a big palm out on Louis’ back, fingers scratching lightly at his skin, “you know, I’d noticed you already. Before that whole thing with the spliff.” 

“I’d noticed you too. You kept asking to borrow my pens and never giving them back.” 

Harry laughed, a little. “Why d’you think I did that?”

Louis bit at his collarbone, hiding a flush in his shoulder. “You needed pens.”

“Never once used a pen in that class.”

 

 

*

 

“Anyone shagging in here?! Is it safe for children to come through?!”

“We’re just watching telly!”

The front door slammed shut and the kids tumbled into the hall. Phoebe and Daisy walked through without so much as a glance in Harry and Louis’ direction, chatting internally about some bitch at school.

Fizzy followed after. She took one look at Harry and Louis, cuddled up together, then marched straight across the floor and gave Harry a high five. “Good job, lad, good job. Nicely done.”

“Thanks, Fiz,” Harry chuckled.

She nodded, then spun on her heel and disappeared into the girl’s room.

Harry and Louis exchanged a grin and a kiss and turned back to the movie they were watching. Love Definitely. Or was it Love Probably? Louis couldn’t remember, but despite the fact that Harry was the one who picked it, it was a good movie, actually.

“Hey, by the way,” Fizzy said, backing into the living-room again, “why isn’t your piece of shit paedo-van parked outside?”

“Oh,” Harry straightened up a little under Louis, “well, I, uhm - I actually sold it.”

“What?” Louis exclaimed, “you didn’t tell me that.”

“No, well, I - I wanted to wait until the kids were back.”

“Well, here you have us,” Fizzy replied, throwing her arms out, “been crammed in Tabby’s tiny guest room for the past three days so you two could shag it out. The least you could do is give us an answer. Why’d you sell the van?”

Harry’s lips parted, but before he could speak, the front door drew attention to itself again.

“Helloooo!” Niall called out.

“We bought groceries!” Lottie added. 

“And Chace is with us!” Niall warned.

“We bought some-” Lottie walked into the living-room, then stopped in her tracks as she noticed Harry, “- oh. Oh, hi, Harry, good to have you back.”

“Good to be be back.”

Niall sighed, feigning irritation. “Look, mate, you’ve got to stop coming and going like this. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is for me when I go and call you a thick-skull to help Lou get over you and then you strut right back here?” 

Harry dropped his head, laughing a little. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Better not. I’m keeping an eye on you.” 

“Are you naked?” Chace cut through, disgust purposely clear in his voice.

Harry glanced down at his bare body, then grabbed at the duvet to cover himself and Louis. “Sorry.”

Niall groaned. “God, mate, that’s my fuckin’ couch and now it’s got your sweaty balls pressed into the-”

“- Harry sold his minivan.”

“What?”

“Harry sold his minivan.”

“Harry sold his minivan?”

“Why’d you sell your minivan?”

All eyes were on Harry now. Even Phoebe and Daisy had peeked their heads out of the girls room to look.

“Uhm,” Harry made to move, but realised it probably wasn’t the best idea if he didn’t want to give all the kids a close-up full frontal of John Thomas, “ehm - Lottie, go grab my duffel in the hall, would you?”

She frowned a little, but obliged. She came back, hauling the duffel across the floor as if it were loaded with bricks.

“Open it,” Harry nodded at it, “I bought something for the money I got for the van. It wasn’t a lot, but it covered a bunch of nice-”

“Winter shoes,” Lottie gasped.

“What?”

The twins ran through the room, crouching down with Fizzy and Lottie around the bag to pull pair after pair of brand new children’s shoes out.

“Oh my god, there’s even ones for the toddler’s. That’s Doris’ size, she’ll love the little flower and - oh, look, Lou, there’s a pair of Tom’s for you as well.”

Something tapped Louis’ lip. It was Harry’s finger. “Don’t bite yourself.”

Louis relieved his lip from the grip of his teeth, realising he’d had them pressed so deep his mouth began to taste metallic. “Harry, you - you shouldn’t have, that’s too-”

“Shh,” Harry said, linking an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of his ear, “it’s the least I could do after all that I put you through.”

And those shoes, Louis thought, watching his siblings fawn and try on and laugh and giggle elatedly, had actually been the starting reason they’d gotten sucked into all that they had. Had been the reason Harry had gotten involved in the cocaine-deal to begin with, before everything had spiralled out of control. Something as small as the need for new winter-shoes. It was unbelievable, Louis thought, as Phoebe tried to squash a pair of two sizes too small Tom’s on his feet, the lengths people went to for shoes.

But then it wasn’t ever really about the shoes.  

“Stay,” Louis heard himself blurt, “stay, I - I want you to stay. With me. With us. I want you to stay, I do.”

It sounded like a sigh of relief, the breath that came stuttering from Harry’s lips. He still answered calmly; “wouldn’t leave if you begged me.”

 

*

 

Louis and his bloke with the greasy long hair, which, if you asked Chace, was rather unbecoming, remained more or less naked all day. Mum came round with Freddie and the toddler’s later on and the Irish bloke, whose relation to the family Chace still couldn’t quite figure out, forgot to feed them until much too late in the evening. Mum tried to talk to Lottie about hiring her at her beauty-station to do some bridal-makeup, but Fizzy, the bothersome trouble-child, kept interrupting and cussing for no apparent reason. The twin girls, Phassy and Dobby, stole the long-haired bloke’s laptop, and, when Chace came in to check on them, were watching porn on it for ‘educational purposes’.

“Just let them,” Lottie said without a shred of concern after Chace had told her. “How much damage can it really do?”

Chace considered trying to explain to her the statistics he’d read, the blog-posts on Reddit and the many alarming scare-tales he’d been told, but he decided to save his breath because he knew she wouldn’t understand. At best, she’d only smile at it. At worst, she’d laugh out loud. “Well, it’s none of my business, I suppose,” he said instead. 

“Uh, well, it’s nun of ma business, I surpoos,” Fizzy mocked from across the room, where she was, from the looks of things, clipping the Irish bloke’s toenails while he bottle-fed the baby. 

Chace bit his tongue over a ‘those nails could very easily jump into the baby’s eyes and blind him for life, but that’s none of my business’, because - well, he supposed it _was_ none of his business. He’d mention it to Lottie later.

“Look at them. Aren’t they cute?” Lottie asked, slipping into Chace’s lap and resting her head on his shoulder. 

At first, he thought she was referring to the homosexuals cuddling on the couch. For some unfathomable reason, it seemed that teen girls had a particular soft spot for men who loved other men - found it ‘cute’ or something - and Lottie was no exception.

But she wasn’t referring to the homosexuals. Not this time.

She was looking at mum and the toddlers, sitting on the carpet and playing peekaboo. Mum was giggling just as much as the toddlers each time she took her hands off her eyes and peekaboo’ed at them. She seemed about as much of a child when with them as they did. Chace didn’t quite get it, the almost unhealthily obsessive adoration of chubby little waddlers who couldn’t even hold an intelligent conversation, let alone control their own bowel-movements.

He didn’t quite get it and yet he did, a little bit.

Got the way his mum lit up, like she hadn’t in years, how she bopped around the house and baked cookies and chatted on about all of the ‘adorable’ things that the baby’s had done last she sitted them. How she seemed more alive these days, more… herself, really. How she used to be.

He got that. He - well, he didn’t mind that. It was all right, he supposed.

“They’re so cute,” Lottie said again, and this time she _was_ referring to the homosexuals on the couch, “look at how he looks at him.”

“Right. Yeah.” Chace didn’t mind homosexuals, really, figured if he wanted to be a well-functioning member of the twenty-first century society, he couldn’t be pointing out the evolutionary unnaturalness of it as much as he’d like. Last he did, during social studies-class, everyone had ganged up on him and _he_ had somehow ended up looking like the unnatural one, don’t ask him why. But the one thing that did really grind his gears when it came to homosexuals, be it men who loved men or women who loved women, was that whenever someone referred to them, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out which ‘he’ or ‘she’ the person was referring to. It got to be quite exhausting. Better off just staying straight, really. 

“You’re cute too,” Lottie said, twisting her neck to press a kiss to Chace’s cheek, “love this shirt on you. You look cute in blue.”

He did, didn’t he? “Thanks, babe.”

She settled back against his shoulder, watching mum and the toddlers playing. He settled into his seat, watching her watch them, fond-eyed and beautiful. This part he got too; when she didn’t know he was watching, when she wasn’t even trying, when she was surrounded by her family and more herself than he ever saw her. How stunning she looked, just like this.

“We’ll have some one day,” she said then, “a whole litter, we’ll make.”

Chace hiccupped. “Uhm, well - let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

She laughed. 

He pressed his nose into her soft hair and breathed in the scent of her shampoo. Watched her family with her. And he thought - yeah. If he did ever manage to get why people wanted to pop little scrunchy-headed blobs of meat out and love them so much they forgot to comb their own hair, he’d love to get it with someone like her. Someone with a sense of family like she had, someone with a family just like this. One which didn’t even have to try, didn’t even bother to.

There was something to be said about the bunch. As horrible and politically incorrect and dysfunctional and utterly foul-mouthed they all were, there was something to be said about the way they made one feel. That look in their eyes, that complete and utter refusal to ever give up on one another, that sense of something so… unconditional.

Yeah. There was something to be said about that. It wouldn’t be said by Chace, because he couldn’t quite put it into words. Maybe it wouldn’t ever be said by anyone, maybe it wasn’t supposed to. But it was there, in the air of a room full of this family, it was there to be felt and seen and touched.

And it did make it seem rather impossible, once having been let into that kind of love, the idea that anyone would ever want to leave.

 

_Never allow past rejection to determine your worth. You are a product of your own actions, not the actions of those who did not care enough to stay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is it. Completed story. 
> 
> Huge thanks to everyone who commented, gave kudos and just read the chapters. But in particular, the comments which I've gotten throughout have been 90 percent of the reason that I've managed to actually finish this fic. So thank you to everyone who wrote me a few words, it meant more than you know! 
> 
> This was my first ever book/fic in the fandom. Considering that, I'm pretty happy with it. Hope you who read it were too. 
> 
> I'll be writing more fics in this fandom soon! 
> 
>  
> 
> And ps. my tumblr is pointerbrotherblog if you want to talk or ask me something :)


End file.
